Dress Whites & Broken Wings
by Aneiki-Rose
Summary: Harm runs smack into his past during the investigation of a Tomcat crash. Semi-sequel to Price of Silence; Harm/Meg shipping. Mild language. Not yet finshed but hopefully soon! Enjoy!


JAG  
  
DRESS WHITES & BROKEN WINGS  
  
ONE  
  
July 8th  
  
1420 Hours  
  
Main Court, JAG Headquarters  
  
Falls Church, Virginia  
  
"Objection!"  
  
Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr. stood up to voice his complaint, his 6'4" height lending substance to his protest. "Calls for speculation."  
  
"Sustained." Captain Jason Collinsworth, presiding judge, glanced briefly at Rabb as the tall officer resumed his seat.  
  
"I'll rephrase." Commander Alexander Thorne answered smoothly, turning ever so slightly to also give the lieutenant commander who opposed him in this court-martial a momentary appraisal.  
  
At the back of the courtroom, the door opened and a slender woman in civilian dress quietly entered, taking a seat in the back of the room, well away from the other observers present. Her sharp eyes swept the scene before her, the uniforms, the lawyers, the line officers that made up the panel, the witness sitting uncomfortably on the stand. Eventually her attention gravitated to the figure of Harmon Rabb, and a slight smile flitted across her features as she watched him sitting there, alert and at the top of his game. He wasn't always at the top of the game though, she thought to herself, the smile fading slightly.  
  
"â€"and you didn't find the cocaine because it had already been switched for the cash by Petty Officer Mason." Thorne's statement drew the woman's attention, and she focused on the proceedings rather than solely on Lieutenant Commander Rabb.  
  
"Objection!" Rabb interrupted again. He waved his hand dismissively in his opponent's direction. "Prosecution is asking the Chief to testify to events he did not personally witness."  
  
"I'll withdraw the statement." Thorne passed back to his seat, looking towards the lieutenant commander. "Your witness, Commander."  
  
The lieutenant commander rose again, coming around the table and clasping his hands in front of him, right hand over left wrist.  
  
"Chief Holley, were you present when Petty Officer Mason was taken into custody?"  
  
"Yes, I was. As his CO, I felt it was important for me to be there, sir."  
  
"So you were there when the petty officer's quarters were searched."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
She watched as Rabb continued to question the witness, dissecting the prosecution's case with the skill of a surgeon. She was familiar with his mannerisms, the slight pauses for effect, the almost casual tone of voice while asking certain questions to disarm the witness, using his height to imposing effect during cross-examination. She couldn't see them, but she imagined his eyes, intense and alert, evaluating the witness' response to his questions. She remembered them, those eyes. They had once looked at her like that, probing and intelligent, looking for answers where there had been none to give. That was a long time ago.  
  
"Objection!" Thorne's voice snapped her out of her daydreaming, and she looked up to see the prosecutor on his feet. "Commander Rabb is presenting personal opinion, not fact."  
  
"Sustained. Commander, keep within the framework provided by evidence; let's not wander off into extemporaneous commentary."  
  
"Yes, Your Honor."  
  
They went on for several more minutes before Thorne asked forâ€"and gotâ€"a recess until the following day. The courtroom began to empty, and Rabb began stuffing files into his briefcase. He didn't look too pleased about the recess, but by all accounts he was winning this case.  
  
People were filing past her, and she slowly stood to her feet, her eyes on him.  
  
Harm placed the last of his things into his case and snapped it shut, then picked it up along with his cover, preparing to leave. He glanced at his watch briefly. His client had already been escorted out. If he was lucky, he could squeeze in a deposition that had been put off because he'd expected to be here all afternoon. He was going to have to hustle. No lunch today, he sighed to himself. He started to hurry down the aisle, when his attention was arrested by the sight of the woman standing at the back of the room. His pace slowed reflexively as his brain tried to catch up with what his eyes were telling it. How long had it been?  
  
"Rachel..." He murmured, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. "You look great."  
  
"Hello, Harm." Rachel replied softly, holding out her hand. "It's been a long time, flyboy."  
  
"Yes, it has." Rabb clasped her hand uncertainly. It wasn't unusual for people he knew to call him 'flyboy'â€"his partner here at JAG did all the time. But Rachel had called him that at a time when his skills as a pilot had been all but written off, after the crash that had taken the life of his RIO and cost him his naval aviation career. To see her again and hear her call him that brought back the painful echoes of those days, and an unsettling chill swept down his spine.  
  
Rachel was instantly aware of his discomfort, although the casual observer would not have detected it. Harm was smiling at her after that charming manner of his, and his handshake, while hesitant, was warm and polite. But those eyes...those eyes she knew so well, betrayed him. A slight flicker in the aquamarine "windows of the soul" told her that he was unsettled by her presence here. She smiled back at him, a flash of sunshine in what Harm remembered as a usually serious demeanor.  
  
"Buy you lunch?" She asked impulsively, and Harm said nothing for a moment, just looking at her. Suddenly he snapped out of his reverie and he gave her an apologetic look.  
  
"Sorry, Rachelâ€"another time, maybe. I've got a deposition that's already been rescheduled twice because of this case. How long are you in town for?"  
  
"Couple of weeks. Conference in D.C. and then a few days' leave."  
  
"Ah." Rabb gave her a knowing look, and drifted towards the door, pausing long enough for her to enter the aisle and walk alongside. "I seeâ€"hanging out with your fellow shrinks, psychoanalyzing each other for a few days?"  
  
"That was uncalled for." Rachel said calmly, looking up at him with a cool gaze. Harm drew in a deep breath as he prepared to push open the door, and he nodded slightly.  
  
"I suppose you're right." He replied, a smile returning to his face. "What's that fall under, Doc? Latent hostility?"  
  
"For starters. Look, Harm, I didn't come down here to argue with you. Or to make you miserable. I just wanted to say hello and see how you were doing."  
  
"Professional courtesy. I like that." Harm held the door open for her with an outstretched arm, allowing her to pass in front of him. "It's a few years too late, but I guess it's the thought that counts, right?"  
  
She didn't blame him for being sarcastic. They hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms. Still, his comments, so lightly spoken, stung her.  
  
"You didn't used to think like that." She replied quietly, her very blue eyes looking up into his. "There was a time whenâ€""  
  
"Oh, there you are."  
  
Harm looked up at the sound of the familiar voice, and Rachel followed his gaze to see a dark-haired Marine major approaching them, the click of her heels marking her rapid approach towards them.  
  
"Hi, Mac." Harm greeted her, reaching up to scratch the bridge of his nose absently.  
  
"Bud said court let out early. I thought you'd want to try to get the Carter deposition in this afternoon, so I called Commander Nolanâ€"" The major's dark eyes fell on the petite blonde standing next to Harm, and a brief expression of curiosity crossed her features.  
  
"Thanks, Mac. I do want to try to get that depo." Harm acknowledged, then made a small motion towards her for Rachel's benefit. "Rachel, this is my partner, Major Sarah MacKenzie. Mac, this is Lieutenant Commander Rachel Westlake. Dr. Westlake."  
  
"Pleased to meet you." Rachel extended a hand, which Mac took after shuffling her load of files from one arm to the other.  
  
"Likewise." Mac glanced at Harm. "Harmâ€"? If we're gonna get the Carter meeting worked in, we've got to move." Rabb hesitated for a brief instant.  
  
"Commander Rabb, I've been looking for you!"  
  
Harm suddenly felt as if he'd been painted as a target as Petty Officer Tiner, Admiral Chegwidden's yeoman, appeared in the hallway. It must have been reflected in his expression, for Rachel smothered a chuckle and murmured,  
  
"Popular person today."  
  
"What is it, Tiner?" Harm asked, ignoring for the moment Westlake's comment.  
  
"Admiral Chegwidden wants to see you, sir."  
  
"I'm on my way." Harm acknowledged, and the petty officer spun neatly around and hurried off. He glanced at Mac and sighed. "Guess Carter'll have to wait."  
  
"I'll call Nolan back." MacKenzie offered, and then she was gone too. Harm headed in the same direction Petty Officer Tiner had taken a moment before, and was mildly surprised when Rachel tagged along.  
  
"Sounds like you have a pretty full docket, Commander." Rachel glanced up at him. Harm shrugged.  
  
"I have the feeling it's about to get fuller." He replied lightly. As senior attorney, most likely he was about to receive another assignment from the Admiral, most likely something with some priority attached to it.  
  
"Do you like it?"  
  
Rachel's tone was neutral, and Harm looked at her as they headed down a short flight of stairs. Her expression seemed genuine enough, and he nodded.  
  
"Yes, I do. Not as much as flying, but this is where I want to be." They entered the main floor and crossed the common area to Harm's office, where he dropped off his briefcase. He started to brush past her to see the Admiral, when she reached over and touched his arm.  
  
"I'm going with you." She said, coming alongside him.  
  
"Excuse me?" Harm's expression was irritated.  
  
"I'm the reason the Admiral wants to see you."  
  
Harm frowned tightly now, and he folded his arms across his chest in a manner that telegraphed his displeasure.  
  
"I knew there was more to this than just 'hi, how are you?'" His tone was slightly accusing, and Rachel glanced away a moment before looking back up at him.  
  
"I really did want to just drop by...maybe talk a little bit over coffee. But..." She pursed her lips briefly before continuing on. "I need your help, Harm." That took him by surprise. Rachel Westlake, self- assured professional counselor, was asking for his help? "We probably shouldn't keep the Admiral waiting." Rachel prompted when his expression changed into that probing, curious gaze that she was so familiar with.  
  
He couldn't argue with that; testing the patience of a two-star was generally not a good idea. Harm said nothing further to Rachel as they threaded their way through the ops area towards the admiral's office. Tiner looked up at their approach, and he nodded.  
  
"Go right in, sir...ma'am. He's expecting you."  
  
Admiral A.J. Chegwidden looked up from the file he was perusing as the two of them entered his office, and he leaned back in his chair to regard them as they snapped to attention a few feet from his desk.  
  
"Good, she found you." Chegwidden remarked, taking in Rachel's appearance with a quick glance. "At ease." He said nothing for a long moment after the two junior officers dropped into an "at ease" position. Finally Harm's curiosity got the better of him, and he spoke up.  
  
"Sir, if I may be so bold as to ask what this is about?"  
  
Chegwidden's eyebrows came up in an amused expression as he watched his leading advocate, taking note of the slight hint of unease in the commander's voice.  
  
"I can imagine you're quite curious, Mister Rabb." He answered easily, closing the folder and tapping the desk once with his hand. "Commander Westlake is involved in the pilot error investigation at Pax Riverâ€"" The admiral let the sentence hang a moment to allow Harm to pick up the thread.  
  
"The pilot from the America that crashed his F-18?" Rabb's brows knit together in a puzzled frown.  
  
"Lieutenant Terrence Rollins." Rachel interjected, and Harm glanced at her.  
  
"Seems Lieutenant Rollins's situation is the subject of an article 32 going on right now. He's been temporarily stationed at Pax during the investigation while he recovers from his physical injuries." Chegwidden continued. "Seems the lieutenant is exhibiting some...psychological manifestations of his accident, and has discharged his previous three counsels."  
  
Harm could see now where this was heading, and he stiffened slightly.  
  
"Sir, I'm in the middle of the Mason court-martial. I don'tâ€""  
  
"Commander, just how long do you think it's going to take you to wrap that case?" The admiral's tone and expression were knowing, and Harm drew in a deep breath. They both knew, from Harm's most recent update on the court proceedings, that he had things well in hand, despite the unexpected recess this afternoon. "Lieutenant Rollins is yours, Commander, and I expect you to give Commander Westlake your complete cooperation."  
  
"Sir, with all due respect...if Lieutenant Rollins' problems with his lawyers stem from a psychological base, then I don't see what assigning him to me will do. I'm not a psychological expert." He glanced at Rachel. "Commander Westlakeâ€""  
  
"Commander Westlake requested you specifically, Mister Rabb." Chegwidden replied firmly, picking up the casefile and holding it out to Harm. "And I agree, that you are the best choice for this case." Harm reluctantly accepted the manila folder from the Admiral's hand, and the quick glance he shot at Rachel said, 'what did you tell him?.' Westlake seemed not to notice it, but Chegwidden did. "Do you have any further objections, Commander?"  
  
Harm glanced up from the file to his CO, recognizing that the tone of the admiral's question did not invite an answer in the affirmative. Like it or not, he was stuck with this one.  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"Good." Chegwidden's smile was that of a man who knew how to most effectively wield his authority. "Dismissed." Harm drew himself back into a stiff attention.  
  
"Aye, aye, sir." He turned in a neat about-face, and brushed past Rachel to exit the Admiral's office. She made to follow him, when Chegwidden cleared his throat lightly.  
  
"Commander Westlake." He stopped her with her name, and Rachel turned back around.  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"Mister Rabb may have his reservations about this case...and about working with you." His frank appraisal of the situation caught Rachel by surprise, but she held his gaze. "But he's also my best officer. Do him the courtesy of remembering that."  
  
"Aye, sir."  
  
Chegwidden nodded his dismissal, and Rachel slipped out of his office. Harm was nowhere to be seen, and she headed back towards his office. The door was closed, and she hesitated a moment before she knocked on it.  
  
"Come in." Harm called out flatly, his tone not inviting casual conversation. Rachel entered the office, and watched him a moment as he went through the pile of afternoon mail that had been deposited in his "in" box. He paused to slit one envelope open with a letter-opener, and he perused the contents as she closed the door behind her and settled into a chair. Neither said anything for a long moment. Finally, Harm spoke, still not looking up from the letter. "Just when were you gonna say something?"  
  
"Aboutâ€"?" Rachel frowned slightly.  
  
"About wanting me on this case." Rabb did look up now, and his expression was unreadable. "About why you want me on this case. You didn't have to go right to the Admiral, you know."  
  
"Yes, I did." Rachel replied defensively. "If I had come to you first, you wouldn't have taken it. You'd have refused me and then I'd have had to go over your head anyway." Harm's expression now changed into one of mild amazement.  
  
"You're serious." He remarked, shaking his head.  
  
"I'm serious about helping Lieutenant Rollins find his way through this." Rachel's reply was in that determined manner that Harm remembered about her. For a brief moment, his expression softened. She'd been determined about another down-on-his luck pilot once...  
  
"So tell me...why?" Harm stuffed the letter back into its envelope, and dropped it back into his "in" basket. "What is this guy to you that you come looking for me after all this time?"  
  
"He's not anything to me except a person in a great deal of pain. And...I would think that it would be obvious to you why I wanted you on this. He needs someone who understands his situation. You were a pilot...you lost your RIO...you know what it's like to have a possible board of inquiry assembled to recommend your court-martial." Harm stiffened for a moment as a memory surfaced momentarily...a letter. A letter he'd written his grandmother, telling her that he might face a court- martial for the crash that killed his RIO... "Earth to Harm..."  
  
Harm blinked a moment, then nodded. Yes, it was obvious. Oddly enough, he'd hoped that there was a different reason he'd been chosen for this assignment other than his own personal tragedies. Still...  
  
"It'll probably be a day or two before I can join you at Pax." He said matter-of-factly as he sat down at his desk and opened a file that awaited his perusal and signature. "I've got to finish up this court- martial and wrap up a few details around here."  
  
"Like the Admiral said, I'm sure you'll have it all taken care of in a timely manner, Commander." Rachel's tone was light, and Harm glanced up to see a smile on her face. He found himself smiling back in spite of himself, and Rachel stood up. "How about I take you to lunch tomorrow then? I'd say we have a bit of talking to do."  
  
"Sounds like a plan." Rabb agreed, picking up a pen and adding his signature to the document in front of him. Rachel watched him a moment longer before leaving the office. As the door shut behind her, Harm leaned back in his chair with a sigh. This was turning out to be a very complicated day.  
  
TWO  
  
July 8th  
  
1905 Hours  
  
North of Union Station  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Harm whistled along lightly with the CD he had playing, throwing together the ingredients for a late supper. He wasn't expecting any company, so the knock at his door caught him by surprise.  
  
"It's open!" He called out, glancing up briefly from his culinary pursuits. The door opened and Meg Austin stepped in, a smile lighting up her sunny features. "Hey! What brings you by?" Harm grinned. "Can't say you were just in the neighborhood, with that last assignment Becca gave you....when'd you get back?"  
  
"About an hour ago." Meg replied. "You would not believe the traffic from Dulles."  
  
"I can imagine. You wouldn't believe the traffic around Falls Church." Harm quipped, returning to his cutting board and the celery that was to end up in his salad.  
  
"Oh?" Meg wandered over next to him and rested a hand on his back as she glanced at him curiously. "What kind of traffic? Tough case?"  
  
"You could say that." Harm tossed a handful of chopped celery into the bowl of lettuce just to the right of the cutting board. "Admiral's assigned me to a pilot error investigation out at Pax River."  
  
"And-?" Meg could hear the unfinished tone that lurked behind Harm's statement, and she reached over to pick a piece of the celery off the cutting board.  
  
"And I have to work with the pilot's psych counsel. Not exactly ideal conditions, if you follow me." Harm quartered a tomato and dumped it into the salad.  
  
"You think he's gone over the edge?" Meg asked concernedly as she munched on the celery. Harm shrugged slightly.  
  
"Don't know; I haven't met him yet. But he's already discharged his last three attorneys within a two-week span. I guess I'm contestant number four." He turned a bit to look at her. "You wanna join me? I've got enough here for two."  
  
"I already ate." Meg replied, reaching for a second slice of celery. "But I'll take a soda if you've got it."  
  
"In the fridge." Harm picked up his salad and a fork from the dish drainer and wandered into the living room. "So how about you? How was the weather in Timbuktu?"  
  
Meg chuckled as she pulled a diet soda out of the refrigerator and followed Harm over to the couch.  
  
"Harm, I was only in Pensacola. Not like I was halfway around the world or anything." She could tell he'd missed her, and truthfully, she had missed him too. Ever since he'd admitted his feelings toward her after their investigation of the Storey murder, they had found themselves hindered in their efforts to progress their relationship due to Meg's workload at Naval Intelligence. The liason program begun by her commanding officer, Commander Rebecca Ryan, was just getting its footing under the Chief of Naval Intelligence, and so the two of them had been going almost non-stop since their transfer from NCIS a few months ago. "And the weather was terrible. Rained almost the whole time."  
  
"All the more reason you should've stayed here." Harm teased. "Eighty-two and sunshine the past couple of days." Meg reached over to swat his arm. "Problem, Lieutenant?"  
  
"You're a brat, sir."  
  
Harm laughed now, and he flashed her another grin.  
  
"Guilty as charged." He glanced up at her after a few bites of salad. "So...Becca keepin' you around for a few days now, or what?" Meg sipped at her soda, amused by the hopeful tone she heard in his voice.  
  
"Any particular reason you want to know?" Her expression was playful, and she nudged his shoulder again. Harm nodded, and his expression turned somewhat soft and serious.  
  
"Yeah. I'd like to take you flying this weekend."  
  
"I just got off a plane, and you wanna take me flying?" Meg giggled, but then she saw something in Harm's eyes that was more somber, and she slid a little closer to him on the couch. "I'd like that. You can fly me anywhere you want."  
  
"I'd like to take you up in Sarah. I don't think I ever have."  
  
"Sarah?" Meg asked curiously.  
  
"The Stearman I told you about..." Harm explained, and Meg nodded.  
  
"The one you rebuilt at your grandmother's farm."  
  
"Yeah..." Harm got a faraway look in his eyes, and Meg touched his arm.  
  
"You okay?" She asked, recognizing that thoughtful expression. Harm had never really told her much about his past, before law school and JAG, but she knew enough to know they had been difficult, uncertain times for him. Harm snapped back to the present, and he set aside his salad. Leaning closer to Meg, he slipped his free arm around her shoulders.  
  
"Uh huh. I'm really glad you're back."  
  
"Me too."  
  
July 9th  
  
Harm approached the F-14 that awaited him, his flight helmet tucked under one arm and clad in the familiar green flightsuit commonly called "the bag" by aviators. He hadn't said anything to Rachel yesterday, but the letter he'd opened while she was in his office had been confirmation of his annual "check-ride," which meant a trip out to Pax River a bit earlier than he'd led her to believe.  
  
The ground crews' Master Chief came around from the other side of the Tomcat, and he smiled.  
  
"You're good to go, Commander. This bird's all yours."  
  
"Thanks, Chief!" Harm reached up to pull down the cockpit's access ladder, and then climbed up to settle himself into the pilot's seat. Strapped in, he pulled on his helmet and then started running his preflight. Just like ridin' a bike...he thought to himself, his hands going through the check like his last flight had been just yesterday instead of almost a month ago.  
  
He received his clearance to taxi, and Harm moved into position on the long runway, feeling the harnessed power of the fighter beneath him.  
  
"Tomcat Zero-Three-Niner, you are a go."  
  
"Roger that." Harm nudged the throttle and the fighter responded. Moments later, he was in the air, the rush of flight making the moment electric.  
  
"Tomcat Zero-Three-Niner, are you ready to play?" A voice sounded over the line, and Harm grinned.  
  
"That's affirm. Bring it on, brother." Harm banked sharply, waiting for the second fighter that was due to run an intercept as part of the manuever.  
  
"I'll be all over your six like ants on a picnic." Came the reply, and Harm laughed as he pulled his oxygen mask over his face.  
  
"Ants at a picnic get stepped on."  
  
It was a deadly aerial dance, move...countermove...check and mate as the two F-14's were put through their paces by their respective pilots.  
  
Suddenly Harm blinked in confusion. His surroundings had shifted, and he found himself out over the ocean, and it was pitch black.  
  
"Say again, you're breaking up."  
  
"This is Tomcat Zero-Three-Niner...Ball!" Harm said instinctively, his grip tightening on the throttle. There was a carrier below...he blinked hard, struggling to see in the inky blackness. The deck was pitching.  
  
"Ball is point three five." The LSO's voice was in his ear. "You're low, Zero-Three-Niner. Pick it up."  
  
"I...I have the ball." Harm made the course adjustments, but the sea was rough and the deck wavered below in his fading eyesight.  
  
"You're going to do it again, aren't you?"  
  
This voice was eerily familiar, and Harm gasped as he realized it belonged to his RIO from the Seahawk. "You're going to kill me again."  
  
"No, Iâ€"" Harm began helplessly. Suddenly the LSO was shouting at him.  
  
"Wave off, Zero-Three-Niner. Wave off! Wave off!"  
  
"I'm afraid you can't keep those, Commander." A hand reached out and ripped his wings from his uniform, and when Harm looked to see who had taken them, there was blood all over the golden wings...  
  
Harm sat bolt upright in bed with a sharp gasp, bathed in a cold sweat. He glanced over at his alarm clock after a long moment. 0232. He ran a hand over his face, and then up through his hair as his heart slowed its pounding. Slowly he got up and wandered out to the kitchen for a glass of water.  
  
Harm shivered once, even though his apartment was relatively warm on this humid summer evening, and took several swallows of water. It had been a long time since he'd dreamed about the crash, and it had shaken him to the core to hear his RIO's voice in his ear..."You're going to kill me again."  
  
Leaving the glass in the sink, he returned to bed and tried to shake the uneasy feeling the nightmare had left him. His check-ride really was in just a few hours...and then the reconvening of the Mason court-martial stretched out before him...and lunch with Rachel Westlake. Harm closed his eyes, refusing to believe that her mere presence had been enough to reawaken old nightmares. He rolled over and slid his arm beneath his pillow, determining to sleep and return the voices from his dream to the past where they belonged.  
  
July 9th  
  
0630 Hours  
  
BOQ, Pax River Naval Air Station  
  
Patuxent River, Maryland  
  
Lieutenant Terrance Rollins slowly sat up, mindful of the brace on his right leg, holding his knee in place while torn ligaments healed. He was unaware that his new legal counsel was at this moment snap-rolling an F- 14 several thousand feet above him. He was only aware of his pain, and not all of it was physical.  
  
The crash would live on, long after everyone else had forgotten all about it. It would live on in the paralyzed form of his RIO, who was so badly injured he would never walk again, and it would live in his nightmares, which had plagued him from the first night after he woke up in sickbay. It seemed somehow very unfair that he should still be able to walk, albeit painfully, when his RIO would never take another step.  
  
"My fault." Rollins murmured to himself as he pushed up from the bed, hesitantly placing a bit of weight on the injured leg. They would take his wings, he knew, but he no longer cared about that. Terrance figured it was a fair tradeâ€"clip his wings for clipping Woody's legs.  
  
Grabbing the cane that was leaning against his bunk, he limped across the floor and looked out the window. He hadn't changed from the day before; his khaki uniform was rumpled from a restless night with very little sleep. Technically he was on medical leave, but he'd continued to wear the uniform, as if that might somehow make everything normal again. And in the several days since his release from the naval hospital, he had not ventured out of his quarters in the BOQ. He didn't want to see anyone, talk to anyone...especially not any lawyers. He knew he was going to be court-martialed; he really didn't expect anything else.  
  
He didn't want anything else.  
  
"Terry?" A voice sounded outside his door, and he flinched at first, then stiffened, unwilling to respond. A few moments paused, and then there was knocking too. "C'mon, Terry, it's Seven. Lemme in."  
  
Rollins stood by the window another few moments before finally limping over to the door and unlocking it. On the other side stood Lieutenant Dan Taylor. Taylor had once been Rollins' RIO before getting transferred, and he was a good friend. The oldest of seven children, Taylor's callsign was "Seven."  
  
"I suppose you want to come in, too." Terry Rollins asked shortly. Taylor nodded, and paused momentarily as Rollins turned slowly and headed back the way he'd come. Stepping into the room, Taylor closed the door behind him.  
  
"You tellin' me you don't wanna see me, buddy?" Seven asked as he stepped into the room, hoping his forced cheerfulness wasn't overdone.  
  
"If your sole reason to see me is to give me the standard 'hang in there' lecture, you're absolutely right." Rollins replied sourly, not bothering to look at Seven.  
  
Seven drew in a measured breath as he took in Rollins' disheveled appearance; his eyes were bloodshot, his face pale and unshaven. The unkempt state of the room also drew Seven's attention as he glanced around idly. His gaze fell on the trash can near his feet; slowly he bent down and picked up an empty bourbon bottle.  
  
"What's going on here, Terry? This isn't the way out." Seven's tone was a bit sharper than he'd have liked, but he was worried. Rollins turned around, and there was fire in his eyes. He reached over and snatched the bottle from Taylor's hand.  
  
"I don't want that lecture, either." The grounded pilot replied angrily.  
  
"Look, they're gonna try to pin it on you, and you know it. They're looking for someone to blame for losin' forty mil of taxpayer green."  
  
"You ever consider the idea that they might be right?" Terry returned his gaze to the window. "Mark'll never walk again, so you tell me why I should ever fly again." Seven shifted on his feet momentarily, shaken a bit by Rollins' painful tone.  
  
"They tell me you're not even gonna let anyone defend you. You know this is gonna go to court-martial unless you have some help."  
  
His knee hurting too much to remain standing, Rollins slowly sat down in a nearby chair. He shrugged.  
  
"I don't need any help." He replied. "There's nothing to defend. I screwed the pooch, beginning and end."  
  
"Terry, I want to help you. Let meâ€""  
  
"I saidâ€"" Rollins threw the bottle against the wall, showering the floor with shards of glass. "â€"I don't want any help! And that includes you. Now get outta here and leave me alone."  
  
Taylor hesitated a moment longer, concerned about his friend. For his own part, Rollins remained silent, staring at the floor. Finally, the RIO left, slipping out the door and closing it behind him.  
  
July 9th  
  
0900 Hours  
  
JAG Headquarters  
  
Falls Church, Virginia  
  
Mac crossed the common area, returning to her office after getting some coffee. She noted that Harm's office door was closed and the lights were off. She detoured slightly and stopped before the desk of Ensign Harriet Sims.  
  
"Yes, ma'am?" Sims glanced up from her computer at the major's approach.  
  
"Have you seen Commander Rabb this morning?"  
  
"No, ma'am." Harriet glanced over her shoulder briefly at Harm's darkened office. "He hasn't been in yet that I know of." Mac frowned momentarily. It wasn't like Harm to be so late. A few minutes, perhaps, but not a few hours. Just then, Lieutenant Bud Roberts entered the common area from the other side, flipping through a file and not particularly watching where he was going.  
  
"Bud, have you talked to Commander Rabb today?" Mac asked as the lieutenant j.g. drew closer, and instantly his face puckered into a confused frown. "Bud, it's not rocket science. Did you talk to him or not?"  
  
"No, ma'am. I just got here myself; I had an appointment this morning to reschedule an exam."  
  
Mac smiled slightly; Bud's hapless quest for a law degree was familiar territory among the officers with whom he worked as law clerk and assistant.  
  
"Reschedule?" The major prompted curiously.  
  
"Yes, ma'am. Because of the Wetzel court-martial, ma'am. I was supposed to be taking a test the night we spent at the hotel." Bud noticed Harriet's pointed glance at him, and he blushed, stammering, "I mean...uhm...well, the night that the three of us...Commander Rabb and you and Iâ€""  
  
Harriet glanced back down to her work, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Mac's smile broadened as well, and she picked her mug back up from Harriet's desk.  
  
"It's all right, Bud. If you see him, tell the Commander I need to see him about that deposition that got put off yesterday." The major started towards her office again, with a casual glance towards Harm's office. Once more her progress was halted when she thought she glimpsed a flash of motion from within the darkened room. Setting her mug down once more, she went to the door and tried the knobâ€"it was unlocked. Pushing the door open, she stepped inside. "What are you doing in here?"  
  
Standing next to a bookshelf, holding a picture frame in her hands, was Rachel Westlake. The psychiatrist looked up sharply, startled. "I'm waiting for Lieutenant Commander Rabb." She replied simply. Mac frowned heavily.  
  
"In his officeâ€"with the lights off?" MacKenzie's tone was accusatory. "How did you get in?" Westlake held up a key, which she then slipped into her pocket. No other explanation was forthcoming, and the lieutenant commander returned her gaze to the picture she held. "He gave you a key?"  
  
Rachel tipped the picture towards Sarah so she could see; it was a snapshot of Harm standing in the middle of a field, next to the classic Stearman biplane he had restored.  
  
"Do you know if he still flies her?" Westlake asked thoughtfully, turning the picture back into her own line of sight. Sarah blinked, caught off guard by the casual change in topic.  
  
"Yes, he does. As a matter of fact, he's treated some of us to rides." Mac shifted her stance. "If you're going to wait for Commander Rabb, I'd suggest the staff lounge. I'm not sure how longâ€""  
  
Rachel returned the picture to its spot on the shelves, and she offered Sarah a smile.  
  
"That's not necessary, Major. I'm meeting him later for lunch anyway, and I have a seminar to attend in about a half hour." The blonde officer started for the doorway, pausing for one last glance at the picture. "Harm put a lot of work into Sarah; I hope you get a chance to go up in her sometime."  
  
Mac followed Rachel out, making sure to lock the office door.  
  
"Actually, I already have. It was quite an experience." She glanced at the psychiatrist before retrieving her coffee. "How did you know he named the plane 'Sarah'?"  
  
"I'm the one who took the picture."  
  
July 9th  
  
1100 Hours  
  
Patuxent Naval Air Station  
  
Patuxent River, Maryland  
  
"You're good for another 365, Commander."  
  
"Thank you, sir." Harm smiled ruefully at the officer who'd evaluated his check-flight, pulling off his flight gloves in quick motions. "Too bad it's not my day job anymore."  
  
"I tend to agree with you. Couple of nice moves up there." The other man offered, grudging respect in his tone. "Not too often I go up against a JAG."  
  
Harm laughed now, shrugging modestly.  
  
"Never underestimate us lawyers. We can be tricky that way." He glanced around briefly, then at his watch. It would be tight, but he still had time. "Which way's the BOQ, sir?"  
  
"Spendin' the night and stretchin' your wings again tomorrow, Commander?"  
  
"Not quite." Harm's smile broadened. "I need to talk with Lieutenant Rollins, and I was told he's been assigned quarters in the BOQ." The other pilot's smile faded, and he glanced away briefly. "I say something wrong, Captain?" Harm prompted.  
  
"Have to admit, I don't know why JAG even bothers with him. He screws the pooch and parks his RIO in a wheelchair for life, and when he has the good sense to take what's coming to him, JAG sends him another lawyer. Commander, you're a heck've a pilot. But if you're his lawyer, I can only hope you're not half as good."  
  
Harm's expression became serious. As reluctant as he was to have this assignment, the other man's remarks chafed his sense of legal integrity.  
  
"With all due respect, sir...JAG bothers with Lieutenant Rollins because the UCMJ entitles him to a fair trial in a military courts-martial. As for his guilt or innocence, I'll let the facts speak for themselves. And Captain," Harm's smile returned. "some people think I'm a much better lawyer than pilot, especially at night."  
  
After a quick change back into his summer whites, Harm headed out immediately for the BOQ. He wanted to see for himself just what he was getting into.  
  
He found the quarters that had been assigned to his client easily enough; the captain's directions had been very precise. Harm knocked on the door. There was no response, and he knocked again. A moment later, a soft southern drawl called out,  
  
"Go away, Seven. Leave me alone."  
  
"Lieutenant Rollins, I'm Lieutenant Commander Rabb, JAG." Harm replied. "I'd like to have a word with you." Rabb frowned slightly to himself as he heard some shuffling from within. "Lieutenant Rollins!"  
  
"Go away, sir. Leave me alone." The voice from within called back.  
  
"I can make it an order, Lieutenant." Harm's voice took on a tone of command. Lack of respect for his position as a lawyer he could deal with. Lack of respect for his officership, he would not.  
  
It was another couple of long moments before Harm finally heard steps by the door. A moment after that, Terry Rollins opened the door to admit the lieutenant commander. Harm stepped into the room, and like Seven had done earlier, took in the condition of his client in an observant fashion.  
  
"Can I offer you a drink before I fire you, sir?" Rollins asked, just shy of being insubordinate.  
  
"It's only 1130, Lieutenant. You tie 'em on often?" Harm was direct and to the point. Rollins was as well, pouring more bourbon from a fresh bottle into his glass.  
  
"Only when I cripple somebody." Rollins drained half the glass before limping back to his chair. Harm bristled a little bit, but said nothing. He was angry, but not sure exactly why. The feelings of hostility took him by surprise.  
  
"I'm not here to hold your hand, Lieutenant. I'm here to defend you." Harm's tone was a bit sharper than he'd intended, and he glanced away briefly. "Were you drunk before you went up, Lieutenant Rollins?"  
  
"Sober as a judge on Sunday." Rollins answered instantly, if somewhat unevenly, giving Harm an eerie smile. "And twice as mean."  
  
"Did you notice anything unusual or out of the ordinary in your preflight?"  
  
Rollins sighed softly.  
  
"Everything I had to say about what happened is on paper, sir. Lawyer like yourself is familiar with pencil-pushin', I expect."  
  
"I read your file, yes." Harm folded his arms across his chest and leveled the grounded pilot with a sharp gaze. "I was hoping to find the Lieutenant Terrance Rollins I read about. But apparently I'm not going to....at least, not today."  
  
"What do you know about it, Commander?" Rollins bit out, swallowing more liquor.  
  
"I know Lieutenant Commander Westlake believes in you. And that tells me a lot." Harm paused, and his voice softened. "Tells me that lieutenant I read about is worth looking for." He regarded his client for another long moment. "I understand the F-18 was also brought here to Pax?"  
  
"Yes, sir." Rollins replied slowly, his speech slurring. "What's left of 'er. Hangar Twelve, sir. All laid out like a pretty little jigsaw puzzle. 'Cept she's missin' a couple pieces."  
  
Harm nodded; he wanted to start there. After a silent moment, he reached down and pulled the bourbon bottle from the other man's hand.  
  
"Lieutenant, I can't tell you what to do with your personal time. But I can tell you that this isn't going to help us. Sober up, and then we'll talk."  
  
"You're pretty...sure of yourself for a lawyer." Rollins swung his cane up unsteadily and poked Harm's chest with the tip, just beneath his wings. "Don't think I didn't notice, Commander. Only reason you're not fired yet is that bird. But I ain't gonna talk. Nothin' to talk about." Rollins laid the cane across his lap and smiled again. "I expect you can find the door by yourself, sir."  
  
Still carrying the bottle, Harm picked up his cover and exited. He tossed the bourbon into the nearest trash can and put on his cover. He was out of time just now, but he'd be back to examine the remains of that F- 18...and to talk to Terrance Rollins.  
  
THREE  
  
July 9th  
  
1401 Hours  
  
North of Union Station  
  
Washington, DC  
  
Harm pulled his Corvette to a stop in front of his apartment building, turning his head to flash his trademark grin at his passenger.  
  
"You live here?" Rachel asked incredulously as she opened her car door. Harm was well aware that the outer appearance of the building was very deceiving, and his smile deepened. "You're kidding me, right? Any moment now, you're gonna say, 'Come on, Rachel, get back in the car' and you'll take me to a nice place in the high-rent district."  
  
"High rent?" Harm arched an eyebrow at the psychologist. "I get paid by the Navy, remember?"  
  
Rachel laughed as they exited the car.  
  
"Right. Well, flyboy, I hope you cook better than you apartment- hunt."  
  
Harm merely cocked his head, the eyebrow coming up again in a seriocomic curiosity. He opened the side door for Rachel to enter, then followed her up the flight of stairs to his apartment door. Rachel stifled a chuckle as Rabb produced his keys and unlocked the door.  
  
"What's so funny?" Harm demanded, pausing before pushing the door open.  
  
"You are." Rachel replied, giving the cluttered hallway another glance. "Navy pay or not, you'd never guess you're a lawyer by theâ€"" Her sentence trailed off as she entered the apartment, and her jaw literally dropped. "Harm, this is great!" Rabb grinned again, shrugging out of his blazer.  
  
"Lotta work." He admitted. "For awhile, it was like living in a storage shed." Harm wandered into the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of his uniform dress shirt as he went. Rachel, always curious, began to walk around the apartment, looking at the various furnishings and knick-knacks. She stopped by the bookshelves to the right of the doorway, picking up the small black-and-white framed picture that sat on the top shelf. Harmon Rabb, Senior and Harmon Rabb, Junior. Rachel remembered the first time she'd seen that photograph...  
  
The farmhouse was a large, sprawling affair situated near acres of corn fields and dairy pasture. Belleville, Pennsylvania was certainly off the beaten path. Getting lost twice on backwater dirt roads hadn't helped any. Sighing, Rachel slowed her car to check the name on the large metal mailbox at the end of the driveway.  
  
S.A. Rabb.  
  
This was the place. Putting on her turn signal even though she was the only soul on this little country road, Rachel pulled into the driveway. She parked right behind a four-wheel drive pickup truck and a light grey sedan.  
  
'Well,' She thought to herself as she got out of the car, 'if hiding's what he has in mind, this is the place to do it.'  
  
She walked up a path of hand-laid stone towards the door. The farmhouse had a wide, low front porch with an oak-lattice railing and trim. A large wooden porch swing hung from the beams above. Potted flowers hung from hooks all along the edges of the porch roof, a woman's touch. For that matter, along either side of the front steps were large flower- beds, carefully tended and sweet-smelling after the late spring rains.  
  
Lightly coming up the front steps, Rachel knocked on the door. A few moments later, the door swung open and Rachel found herself looking down at a rather short and slender older woman with thick greying hair that hung nearly to her waist in a single, long braid. She was wearing a loosely tucked sleeveless white shirt and blue jeansâ€"and an apron, on which she was wiping her hands.  
  
"Mrs. Rabb?" Rachel asked uncertainly. The other woman took in her visitor in a quick, sweeping glance.  
  
"I expect you're here to see my Harmon, Lieutenant."  
  
Rachel blinked once in surprise; she'd taken the time to change out of her uniform before the final leg of her trip, opting instead for a pair of black jeans and a T, and a ballcap to try to control her runaway curls.  
  
"Yes, ma'am." Rachel replied. "May I come in?" Sarah Rabb pulled the door open wider to allow her guest into the house. "How did you know? My rank, that is?" This visit, while official, was unannounced, as far as she knew. Mrs. Rabb smiled slightly as she closed the door behind them.  
  
"My husband, my son, and my grandson are all Navy men. You learn a thing or two when you're married to the military." Sarah motioned towards Rachel's ballcap, and Rachel suddenly smiled. She'd forgotten that she'd pinned her extra set of lieutenant's bars to this particular cap. "Your ring, too." Sarah glanced at Rachel's right hand, which sported an Academy ring.  
  
"Very observant." Rachel remarked. A twinkle entered the older woman's eyes.  
  
"Having a rambunctious grandson for a month every summer taught me that."  
  
"I'd imagine so." Rachel replied. Sarah Rabb picked up a picture from a nearby end-table and handed it to the lieutenant.  
  
The snapshot was a black and white still of a tall Naval aviator in a leather jacket, next to an A-4. In the cockpit of the Vietnam-era fighter was a young boy whose attention seemed riveted to the plane's instrument panel.  
  
"From the moment Harmon Senior put that boy in that plane," Sarah said thoughtfully, "the only thing my grandson ever wanted was to fly for the Navy." The older woman's gaze became faraway for an instant, then she focused back on Rachel. "Don't take it from him."  
  
"That's not my call, ma'am." Westlake replied, handing the photograph back. "I'm not here to hurt him; I'm here to help him."  
  
"Earth to Rachel." Harm snapped his fingers, and Westlake jumped, startled. He grinned as he moved to the dining table with the pair of plates he had in his other hand. "I thought coming here instead of going to a restaurant would make it easier to talk, not harder."  
  
"I was just thinking about the first time I met your grandmother." Westlake returned the picture to its spot on the bookshelves. "She's quite the lady."  
  
"Yes she is." Harm replied as he came back towards the kitchen.  
  
"She still on the farm?" Rachel asked idly. For awhile...after...she had kept in touch with Sarah Rabb, but as time and changes stepped between the two women, the letters had become less frequent, until Rachel had stopped writing altogether.  
  
"Uh huh. Won't hear of moving to a smaller place." Harm pulled silverware from a drawer. "I was thinking of going up there this weekend; I wanted to go flying, and Gram has some firewood that needs cutting."  
  
Rachel accepted the handful of utensils from Harm and she walked over to the place settings, her mind once again casting back to the past...  
  
"He's out back if you want to talk to him, Lieutenant." Sarah nodded towards the back screen door, then returned to her kitchen. After a moment, Rachel crossed over to the screen door and pushed it open.  
  
The tall man in the yard had his back mostly towards her, so he didn't notice as she stood on the back porch, observing him.  
  
He was shirtless, tanned from recent days spent in the sun; Rachel made out the faint pale tanlines from a tank top along the back of his neck and shoulders. A wad of grey cotton, presumably the tank top, had been tossed aside a few feet away. His arms came up, hands gripping the smooth handle of an old axe, then swung down in a swift motion, neatly splitting the log before him in half.  
  
Lieutenant Harmon Rabb, Jr. tossed aside the split pieces of firewood onto a growing pile of wood ready for cording and drying, then picked up another log. He balanced it on end and hefted the axe in his right hand, pausing a moment to wipe the sweat from his forehead with the back of his left.  
  
Rachel watched him split this log also, the halves neatly falling aside in a strong blow from well-muscled arms. He picked up the next log, and she noticed his right forearm was bandaged halfway up to his elbow. The initial crash report had detailed Rabb's injuries as mostly being burns from the ejection rockets; his right arm and leg taking the brunt of it. There was a glass of iced tea sitting on the porch railing, and Rachel assumed it was his. Picking it up, she proceeded towards the object of her journey here to Belleville, Pennsylvania.  
  
"Looks like you've been keeping busy, Lieutenant Rabb."  
  
Harm whirled around, startled by the unfamiliar voice, and he found himself looking into an incredibly deep pair of blue eyes.  
  
Rachel looked up, craning her neck; Harm Rabb was about a foot taller than her five-foot-four inch height. Westlake smiled unconsciously at the realization that Rabb fairly towered over his diminutive grandmother.  
  
"Something like that, Lieutenant." He too had taken notice of the bars pinned to her ballcap. He took the glass from her hand and drained a little over half of it in short order. "It beats being aboard ship just now." His statement was frank and honest, even though his voice had dropped to a quiet tone. Rachel saw the troubled look that briefly flickered in the serious hazel eyes, and she drew a deep breath.  
  
"I can imagine so, Lieutenant Rabb." She was about to continue, but Harm waved his hand dismissively.  
  
"Harm." He said, pausing long enough to finish off the iced tea. "We're not on duty here; just call me Harm." He put the glass down on the old tree stump that served as chopping block, and bent to scoop up the balled-up tank top. Shaking it out and pulling it over his head, Rabb nodded towards the pile of wood. "I suppose you'd like to talk to me. If you do, you might as well give me a hand." Rachel watched as the lieutenant picked up an armload of firewood and started towards a back shed. Shaking her head, Westlake did the same, following him into the small storage area.  
  
Harm was stacking the wood as she entered the shed. Come winter, it would be dried and ready for burning in the huge woodstove Gram had had for as long as he could remember.  
  
"Aren't you even going to ask who you're talking to?" Rachel asked curiously. "For all you know, these lieutenant's bars belonged to my brother or father or uncle. I might just be some nosey reporter out to flame your six."  
  
"Well," Harm grunted as he took Rachel's armload and began to stack it, too. "For one thing, you talk Navy. Which leads me to believe you're the genuine article. And for another," He put the last few logs onto the stack and turned towards her. "You're a ringknocker. I doubt you borrowed that." Rachel's eyebrows came up curiously. Like his grandmother, Rabb had a sharp eye for detail, and her Academy ring had given her away a second time.  
  
"So I am." Rachel held out her hand. "Lieutenant Rachel Westlake."  
  
"â€"and then it was just a matter of..." Harm's voice eventually intruded on her memories, and Rachel glanced over at him. Harm trailed off as he realized that she hadn't heard a word he'd said. An amused look crossed his features. "Where were you this time, Commander?" Rachel cleared her throat lightly, taking a sip of her iced tea before answering him.  
  
"Still in Belleville. Meeting you for the very first time." She watched as Rabb's expression displayed a transformation from amusement to discomfort and then to professionalism within the span of a few moments.  
  
"Tell me about Lieutenant Rollins." He said, changing the topic back to the matter at hand. He avoided her gaze for a moment or two, and Rachel continued to regard him thoughtfully.  
  
"Are you asking for my professional evaluation, Harm, or for personal observations?"  
  
"Both." Harm did look at her now. "The more information I have, the better I'll be able to defend him." He picked up his own glass and took a swallow. "So...tell me about the lieutenant."  
  
July 9th  
  
1401 Hours  
  
Offices of the CNI  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Meg's fingers fairly flew over the keyboard, composing the final reports from her assignment in Florida. She paused a moment to sip at the coffee she'd just brought in, and she leaned back in her chair to glance out the office window. Her thoughts strayed to familiar territory...that of one Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb. She smiled to herself as she recalled his promise to take her flying on the weekend. She had never been in the yellow biplane, but had seen plenty of pictures, and was sure it would be quite fun. Well, she thought to herself, fun as long as he doesn't try to fly it like a Tomcat.  
  
"Penny for your thoughts, Lieutenant."  
  
Meg looked up, startled, then started to rise to her feet at the sight of her CO, Commander Rebecca Ryan. Ryan waved her back to her seat, then entered the room more fully.  
  
"I don't know if they're worth paying for, ma'am." Meg replied, a slight smile on her face. Behind the smile, however, Ryan noted the slight blush that appeared on Austin's cheeks.  
  
"Well, if they have anything to do with Harm, then they're definitely worth paying forâ€"they might prove useful as blackmail." Ryan grinned impishly, and Meg found herself chuckling too, even though she had been caught daydreaming.  
  
"He's hoping you don't have another assignment for me anytime soon." The blonde lieutenant admitted honestly. Ryan's grin broadened a little.  
  
"Oh, he does, does he? Well, I'll have to see what I can do." Becca glanced at her watch. "Believe it or not, I don't have anything else for you for the next...three days. So take the time off. Heaven knows, you deserve it."  
  
"But...ma'am...what about..."  
  
"Are you going to look a gift-commander in the mouth? Pack up and take off, Lieutenant...that's an order."  
  
Meg smiled and her fingers were already moving to shut down her computer. After all, she couldn't disobey a direct order.  
  
"Aye, aye, ma'am."  
  
July 9th  
  
1401 Hours  
  
JAG Headquarters  
  
Falls Church, Virginia  
  
Mac quickly added her signature to a legal brief, rising almost at the same time, aware of the amount of work she needed to accomplish within the next two hours. Picking up the folder, she came into the Ops area and found Bud Roberts.  
  
"Bud, I need this returned to Captainâ€""  
  
"â€"Hall for tomorrow's 1530 deposition on the Carter article 32. Disclosure notations and statements from NCIS included in here, ma'am?" Bud finished, taking the folder. MacKenzie smiled slightly; she'd been keeping the lieutenant j.g. rather occupied for most of the afternoon. If Harm wasn't here to make use of Roberts' help, why couldn't she?  
  
"Yes, they are. Thanks, Bud. Iâ€"" Mac was interrupted by the presence of Admiral Chegwidden, and they both paused.  
  
"Major, I'd like a word with you."  
  
"Aye, sir." Sarah passed the rest of the paperwork over to Bud and followed the admiral back to his office.  
  
"How's your schedule, Major?" Chegwidden asked casually as he walked to the window and looked out. He glanced back over his shoulder at her as he folded his arms across his chest. Mac blinked a moment.  
  
"Full, sir. I'm working the Carter Article 32 with Commander Rabb, I'm slated to be in Norfolk three days next week, and I have the Parris Island incident...witness interviews and statements."  
  
"Seems that you have a gap in there somewhere, if I recall." The admiral paused, but kept his gaze on the view from the window.  
  
"The Newburg case...yes, the charges were dropped by the prosecutionâ€""  
  
"Consider the gap plugged, Major. Commander Thorne was supposed to handle the prosecution on the Rollins Article 32, but he's been reassigned to another investigation at Miramar. I'm turning it over to you."  
  
"The pilot error case?" Sarah asked, her expression becoming serious. "Sir, isn't Commander Rabb defending this one?"  
  
"Is there a problem, Major? This certainly isn't the first time you've opposed each other in court. I expect you'll prosecute to the best of your ability." Chegwidden turned away from the window, giving MacKenzie a penetrating look.  
  
"No...no problem, sir." Sarah drew herself to attention.  
  
"Good. I'll see to it that Commander Thorne turns over his casefile to you. Dismissed."  
  
"Aye, aye, sir."  
  
The admiral watched as Sarah departed, nodding to himself thoughtfully. Whether or not Lieutenant Terrance Rollins was pronounced guilty or innocent, he was satisfied that the interests of truth would be served.  
  
July 9th  
  
1500 Hours  
  
North of Union Station  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
"Come in!" Harm called out to the knocker at his door as he tugged on his uniform blazer. The door opened to admit Meg Austin, and her expression was concerned.  
  
"Are you all right?" She asked before he could say anything else. Harm gave her a puzzled glance as he picked the notes up from the dining table he'd made during his conversation with Rachel, who had caught a cab back to her hotel.  
  
"Any reason why I wouldn't be?"  
  
"Bud said you haven't been in the office all day when I called, so I thought maybe you were sick or something." Meg pushed the door closed behind her.  
  
"Actually I was at Pax for awhile, and I had closing arguments for the Mason case." Harm shook his head. "Bud knew my check-ride was today."  
  
"Oh, so you were playing." Meg teased as she drew close. Harm grinned back at her.  
  
"Have to keep the wings in practice." He leaned down to brush her lips with his own. "Playing comes this weekend. You are gonna love Sarah."  
  
Meg drew her head back, and she looked up into hazel eyes twinkling with mischief.  
  
"Well, I thought you'd like to know that Becca gave me the next three days off. As of right now, I'm all yours." She started to turn away, when she noticed the plates still on the table. "Company?" She asked curiously. Harm nodded, picking up his cover and briefcase, into which he had tossed his notes.  
  
"Working lunch." He replied. "Psych counsel from that pilot error case. I have to go back out to Pax River and take a look at the wreckage from the F-18...you may have the rest of the week off, but I don't." Harm looked at his watch. "I've gotta go; court reconvenes on Mason in twenty- five minutes for the return of the verdict. I'll see you later, okay?" He leaned down again to plant a quick kiss on Meg's cheek.  
  
"You say so, sir." Meg smiled. She watched as he left. A day in the life of Harmon Rabb. The thought made her chuckle to herself. Well, at least one part of it will be nice. She would see to that.  
  
July 9th  
  
1643 Hours  
  
JAG Headquarters  
  
Falls Church, Virginia  
  
Mac came out of her office with the intention of filling her coffee mug, to see Harm entering the common area at a brisk pace. Leaving her mug on Bud Roberts' desk, she crossed over to the lieutenant commander and smiled.  
  
"Eight hours and thirteen minutes. Are you trying to get into the Admiral's doghouse?" Her expression was mischievous. "I've rescheduled that deposition for tomorrow at 1530, by the way. I assume you'll be ready for it?"  
  
Harm glanced briefly at his watch as they approached his office.  
  
"Eight hours and twelve minutes, twenty seconds. No. And yes." He unlocked his door and proceeded in, and Mac followed him as far as the doorframe. "They returned 'not guilty' on Mason."  
  
"Nice job, Counselor." Sarah replied. "So...?"  
  
"What?" Harm wanted to know, glancing up from a stack of mail.  
  
"So...where've you been all day?"  
  
"I was in court, Mac. Getting that 'not guilty'." He held her gaze momentarily before returning to weeding out the mail he held in his hand.  
  
"I mean, before that. Say around...0830 or so."  
  
"Someone looking for me?" Harm asked idly.  
  
"Well, yes, but that's something else." Sarah folded her arms across her chest. Harm glanced up now, curiosity getting the better of him.  
  
"I was at Pax for my check-ride." He tapped his wings lightly with a forefinger, and understanding registered on his partner's face. "Who was looking for me?"  
  
"Your shrink." Mac couldn't resist the verbal jab, and Harm raised an eyebrow at her in sardonic humor.  
  
"Trying to tell me something, Major?" Harm tossed the opened mail back into his "in" basket. He'd only come in to tie up a few loose ends before making an end of this whole crazy day.  
  
"Commander Westlake was here earlier." Mac explained.  
  
"That's all right...I caught up to her." Harm checked a few files that had been left for him in his absence.  
  
"Harm...I mean, she was here. In your office." Harm looked up sharply, frowning. But before he could press the matter, Mac stepped inside the office and pulled the door closed behind her. Harm's expression continued to be puzzled. "Harm...that pilot error case you're defending..."  
  
"If my client doesn't add me to his list of fired attorneys..."  
  
"The admiral has placed me as prosecutor." Mac was nothing if not straightforward. Harm inclined his head slightly.  
  
"Don't tell me you're worried about it." Harm placed the files he wanted into his briefcase. "It's only an article 32 investigation at this point..."  
  
"No, that's not it. I read the casefile, Harm. Are you...all right with this?" Mac knew very little about the crash that had killed Harm's RIO and stripped him of his active aviator's duties, but she couldn't imagine that this was very easy for him. Harm snapped his briefcase shut and picked it up.  
  
"It's my job to be all right with it, Mac." He purposefully kept his tone light. "You learned to handle your past during a defense; I'm sure I can deal with mine." He ushered her from the office, locking the door as he went. "Have a nice night, Major."  
  
Sarah watched his retreating back as he strode away down the hall.  
  
"I hope so, Harm, for your sake."  
  
FOUR  
  
July 10th  
  
0900 Hours  
  
JAG Headquarters  
  
Falls Church, Virginia  
  
"You wanted to see me, Commander?" Bud Roberts poked his head into Harm's office, and Rabb motioned him inside.  
  
"Yeah, Bud...I'm going back to Pax River to get a statement from Lieutenant Rollins. I want you to see if we can get into Bethesda and interview his RIO, and see if you can arrange us a hop out to the America. I want to interview the skipper, CAG, LSO and Air Boss. I also want a copy of the landing tapes and the LSO's log, too." Bud was scribbling frantically onto a small notepad as Harm spoke.  
  
"You didn't seem all that gung-ho about this case two days ago." Mac was in his doorway now, and Harm glanced up at her as he prepared to leave. "What changed your mind?"  
  
"Defending against you is a challenge, Major. I'm rising to the occasion." Harm's reply was evasive, and Mac smiled slightly.  
  
"You'd better believe it, flyboy. I'm not gonna make it easy on you this time."  
  
"This time?" Harm grinned as he picked up his cover and tucked it beneath his arm. "You mean you've been pulling punches, Mac?"  
  
"You're dreamin'." She turned to Bud. "Make sure that hop has room for three, Bud."  
  
"Aye, ma'am." Roberts acknowledged, as Harm gave the major a knowing look.  
  
"I'll see you when I get back."  
  
Mac merely nodded and left the office, but before Harm could be on his way, Ensign Sims entered, carrying a folder.  
  
"Commander, these just arrived for you."  
  
Harm set his briefcase back onto his desk, then reached for the folder. Inside were several black and white stills taken of the crashed F- 18 on the deck of the America shortly after the fire had been extinguished. The burnt-out remains of the fighter, and the blackened deckplate beneath visually underscored the tragedy. At the right hand corner of one of the pictures, the medics could be seen bearing away the stretcher containing Rollins' RIO. A shiver traveled, unbidden, down Harm's spine...  
  
"Punch out!" Harm heard his RIO, Lieutenant j.g. Anthony Mace in his ear, and he instinctively tightened his grip on the throttle. It was no small suggestion to dump a forty-million dollar piece of hardware, but at the moment, neither was attempting to complete this trap. The deck pitched below, and Harm blinked hard, struggling to focus his blurring vision.  
  
"You're low! Power...power..." The LSO was shouting, and in that split moment of panic, Mace reached for the ejection handles.  
  
No! Harm thought desperately. There was no time for argument; they were too close. A split second later, they'd punched out of the F-14's cockpit. As his chute deployed, catching the wind and blowing it back, he caught a brief glimpse of the Tomcat plowing into the deck of the Seahawk. It ignited in a ball of flames, and then Harm lost consciousness.  
  
The next thing he remembered was coming to, lying in a stretcher on the deck. He lifted his head, trying to see if his RIO had been rescued as well.  
  
"Lie still, sir." One of the medics instructed. He was trying to start an IV, and Harm's frantic squirming wasn't helping any. "Lieutenant, please! Just relax...we'll get you below and patched up in no time."  
  
"Where's Tony?" Harm murmured, finally giving up and lying back down. He barely felt the sting of the needle against the pain he was just becoming aware of. "Where is he?" The medic didn't answer him; he simply glanced up at his partner before returning to his work. Harm caught the look, and his breath caught in his throat. "Where is Lieutenant Mace? Tell me now." The medic looked at his partner again, who nodded curtly.  
  
"I'm sorry, sir. The lieutenant j.g. didn't make it, sir."  
  
He didn't make it...he didn't make it...he didn't make it. The words echoed in Harm's memory like a skipping recording.  
  
"Commander? Are you all right?"  
  
Harm glanced up to see Harriet looking at him worriedly. It was then that he realized he'd dropped his cover and he had tightened his hand into such a fist that his knuckles had turned quite white.  
  
"I'm fine...Harriet." Harm answered, but Sims recognized something ...hesitant about his tone of voice. He unclenched his hand and opened his briefcase, intending to put the pictures into it. Harriet retrieved the lieutenant commander's cover in a smooth motion and held it out to him, and as he took it from her, he could see the concern still in her eyes. "I'm all right...really." Harm smiled reassuringly at the ensign, and she finally nodded.  
  
"Yes, sir. Of course you are." The ensign watched as Harm placed the pictures into the case file, then prepared once again to leave.  
  
"Something else, Ensign?" Harm prompted, and Sims shook her head.  
  
"Uhm..no sir. Good luck, Commander." With that, Harriet quickly stepped out of his office. Harm smiled to himself slightly. He hoped Bud knew how lucky he was.  
  
I'm sorry, sir. The Lieutenant j.g. didn't make it...  
  
July 10th  
  
0915 Hours  
  
Embassy Suites Hotel  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Rachel brushed her hair back, preparing to sweep it into a tight bun. Abruptly she stopped, impulsively letting her hair fall around her face; it just barely brushed the tops of her shoulders. She smiled to herself; she often referred to the regulation 'do as the "Wicked Witch of the West" look. That, She thought, is what you get for being the Navy's roving psychologist.  
  
Her smile faded as she looked at herself in the mirror. Not many people got to see her as she was right now...dressed in civvies and her hair down. Rachel had spent most of her naval career diagnosing some of the most publicized mental cases in the military; if it was news, most likely she was in the middle of it. Anything from an Army colonel whose repressed memories turned out to be the basis of his beating a private nearly to death, to a Marine Corps gunnery sergeant with post traumatic stress disorder who fired eighty-five rounds into a parked monster pickup, thinking the vehicle was an "enemy tank."  
  
"Oh, yeah..." She murmured to herself. "...if it's news..."  
  
"I hope your liberty was a good one, Lieutenant." Rachel's CO commented as she entered the office. She came to attention, then dropped into an at-ease stance at his bidding.  
  
"Yes, sir. Good time to hit the beach, sir."  
  
"Well, that's good, because I'm about to send you into temporary exile."  
  
"Sir?" Rachel frowned in puzzlement. Her CO merely turned to a television set and turned up the volume so she could hear the news broadcast currently in progress.  
  
"...the latest in a series of incidents for the Navy. The pilot of the downed F-14 is Lieutenant Harmon Rabb, Jr., son of a naval aviator listed as MIA during the Vietnam War. Lieutenant Rabb has been suspended from flight duties, pending a hearing to determine whether a court-martial will be brought against him for the death of his Radar Intercept Officer, Lieutenant Junior Grade Anthony Mace. The Navy..."  
  
Muting the volume, her CO faced her again.  
  
"JAG is conducting an Article 32 investigation into this; apparently the prosecuting counsel wants a standard psych workup on this Lieutenant Rabb. Repack your bag; you're going to Pennsylvania."  
  
"Pennsylvania, sir?" Rachel asked curiously.  
  
"The Seahawk is still on maneuvers, and Rabb has been placed on medical leave. His defense attorney has persuaded the convening authority that he's not a flight risk, and he was allowed to take his leave with relatives in Belleville, Pennsylvania."  
  
"Belleville?" Rachel made a sour face. "Sounds like it's in the middle of nowhere."  
  
"Well...I did say exile, didn't I, Lieutenant? We're talking Pennsylvania; more than likely that's a pretty accurate assessment." Rachel was handed a manila folder, apparently Rabb's casefile as presented by JAG, and she took it from her CO's hand. "Dismissed."  
  
Rachel snapped herself out of her daydreaming and quickly finished putting her hair up, tucking the bobby pins neatly into place and hurrying to change out of her civilian clothes into her summer whites. After the first seminar today, she was heading up to Pax River for another session with Lieutenant Rollins; hopefully Harm would begin formulating his defense soon. Harm. She had to admit, seeing him again like this after all this time was a little unnerving, although not unpleasant. Zipping up her skirt, she drew a deep breath, reestablishing a calm reserve. She was here to do a job, after all, and it shouldn't matter with whom she had to work in order to accomplish her goal.  
  
July 10th  
  
1030 Hours  
  
Patuxent Naval Air Station  
  
Patuxent River, Maryland  
  
"Yes, sir...she is a mess, sir."  
  
Harm followed a master chief petty officer into Hangar Twelve, and he was instantly faced with the remains of Terrance Rollins' F-18. The wreckage had been laid out in an approximation of where the shattered pieces would be in a normal aircraft, and were being carefully examined by the master chief's investigative crew.  
  
"How much of the aircraft was recoverable?" Harm asked as he drew alongside what was left of the port wing, hunching down to examine sheared metal from the engine intake.  
  
"About fifty-five, sixty percent, actually. I was pretty surprised at that, for as much damage as she took." The Master Chief waved a hand dismissively toward the wrecked fighter.  
  
"Data recording?" Harm asked, looking up.  
  
"Transponder was not recovered, sir. But the information recorded is being made available by the America." The other man looked down at the officer kneeling among the F-18 fragments. "So far what I've got is going to be pretty disappointing to your defense, Commander. To this point, we have not found any instrumental or structural failure in the aircraft. Looks like your boy screwed up."  
  
"Looks can be deceiving, Chief. A man's career is at stake; I'd rather deal with facts than appearances. Keep on it." Harm rose smoothly and indicated the debris with a loose wave of his cover.  
  
"Aye, sir!"  
  
Harm proceeded from the hangar, but paused at the doors to glance back over his shoulder at the shattered F-18. After a long moment, he put on his cover and headed toward his car.  
  
When he arrived at Lieutenant Rollins' BOQ, he was pleased to find the grounded pilot in a fresh uniform and clean shaven, although it was apparent the lieutenant was still having quite a bit of difficulty getting around. The brace and cane, however, were only the outward signs of a more painful wound.  
  
"How are you feeling, Lieutenant?" Harm greeted Rollins politely. The other man simply snorted a bit.  
  
"How d'ya think I'm feelin', sir?" Terrance made his way to his chair and sat down with a painful grunt. "Pardon me if I don't stand to attention every time you show up. Sir."  
  
Harm let it slide, he could hear the pain in Rollins' voice; that knee would be a long time healing, from the sounds of it.  
  
"I need you to tell me exactly what happened, Lieutenant." Harm removed a legal pad and pen from his briefcase, settling down on the end of Rollins' bed and preparing to make notes. "Start from the beginning, with your preflight." There was a long pause, and Harm glanced up to see Rollins fumbling with a bottle of medication. The knee was more than bad; he could see it in the pilot's face. Harm winced instinctively, painful echoes of memory reflected in his expression.  
  
Harm lay still in sickbay, barely aware as his injuries were treated and dressed; whatever he'd been given for pain was making him extremely drowsy. Yet he kept murmuring about Tony Mace, the shock of it all just settling over him.  
  
"C'mon, Lieutenant...stop fightin' the meds and get some sleep." The medic instructed. "You need to rest, sir."  
  
"Tony...no..." Unbidden, a tear slipped out and ran back along Harm's temple. The medic sighed softly; he couldn't even begin to imagine what Rabb was going through. Impulsively he rested his hand on Harm's shoulder.  
  
"Please, sir...just sleep awhile. We can talk when you wake up later."  
  
Finally, the medication overcame his resistance, and Harm's eyelids slid shut as he drifted off under its influence. He didn't remember being moved from the triage area, but when he next stirred, he was lying in a bed, his burns bandaged and an IV still dripping into his left arm. He didn't quite open his eyes, he was still too groggy from the painkillers to bother trying. But he became aware of soft voices nearby, carrying on a hushed conversation.  
  
"...mostly second degree burns. He'll be all right, sir."  
  
"I'm not so sure about that. Does he know what's happened?"  
  
"Think so, sir. Casey said he was askin' about Mace up top, before they brought him down here."  
  
The other speaker sighed softly.  
  
"Keep me informed."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"You listenin', Commander?"  
  
Harm snapped back to the present, as Lieutenant Rollins sat regarding him curiously.  
  
"Yeah, I'm with you." He clicked his pen and jotted down a quick note.  
  
"You all right, sir?"  
  
"Don't worry about me. This is about you." Harm replied, perhaps a bit more sharply than he'd intended. "Okay. So you didn't find anything unusual at all during your preflight?"  
  
"If it's about me, you could at least pay attention. How'm I supposed to trust you with my defense, sir, if you can't even take my statement?" Rollins remarked disgustedly.  
  
"Just...take it from the top."  
  
"Oh, yes, sir." Terrance shook his head. "Look, you may be a 'brother,' Commander, but don't let those wings fool you into thinkin' I won't fire your six."  
  
"Seems to me, Lieutenant, that just yesterday you weren't terribly interested in being defended. Now you want to play critic?" Harm suddenly took a deep breath, trying to get a grip on his emotions. As he'd just said a few moments ago, this wasn't about himself, it was about Terrance Rollins' defense.  
  
"I don't do things halfway, Commander. I might've been a bit tanked yesterday, but I got the impression that neither do you. Either give me everything you've got, sir, or just leave me alone." Rollins' met Harm's gaze squarely, his expression frank.  
  
"A little bit tanked?" Harm echoed flatly. Rollins' eyes were bloodshot, with dark circles beneath them. Harm didn't want to know what kind of hangover the lieutenant had; it made him wince just thinking about it. The lieutenant held his gaze unflinchingly, however, and Harm finally nodded slowly. "All right. Everything I've got."  
  
FIVE  
  
July 10th  
  
1930 Hours  
  
North of Union Station  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Harm shrugged out of his uniform blazer and draped it across the back of the couch, depositing his cover on top of it and leaving his briefcase on the cushion. The drive back from Pax River had been tiring; a four-car pileup had left him and a few dozen other drivers stuck on the highway for the better part of an hour. Finally traffic had freed up and he'd made a beeline straight home, without bothering to check in with Mac or Bud.  
  
Running one hand through his hair and loosening his tie with the other, he wandered over to his answering machine; there was a single message. Punching the button while continuing to undo the tie and unbutton the collar, he cranked the volume and wandered into the kitchen.  
  
'Hi, sir. It's me, Lieutenant Roberts.' The recording began, and Harm had to chuckle. Not like he wouldn't have recognized the voice. 'I just wanted to let you know that helo has been arranged to take all of us to the America, sir. We're scheduled to leave from Andrews at 1140. Thanks...uhm...bye.' Beep.  
  
1140. Well, that should be plenty of time to have things together for the necessary interviews.  
  
Harm came back into the living room, and was suddenly struck by a feeling of restlessness. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, either. He'd been so eager just to get home and relax, and now he felt like he couldn't sit still. It was like...it was like...  
  
It's like those hot summer afternoons at Gram's after the crash.  
  
The thought came, unbidden, and Harm slowly shook his head. Wrong, Rabb.  
  
He tried to shake it off, telling himself that dredging up all that stuff would not help him try this case. But the restless feeling persisted, even after almost a half hour spent playing his guitar, which usually worked to settle his nerves. Finally Harm set the guitar aside and pulled the unknotted tie completely from his shirt collar. His thoughts were still drifting along the lines of summer days spent in Belleville and of the coming visit to the America. Abruptly, he got up and walked back to the bedroom, scooping up his blazer and cover on the way. After hanging up the blazer, he reached back to the back shelf and pulled out a small box.  
  
In the box was a notebook, the cover battered and abused, with a small felt pen clipped to it. Pulling the pen off and laying the box aside, he carried the notebook back with him into the living room. Idly he flipped it open, somewhere in the middle, and looked at the pages of scrawled handwritingâ€"his handwriting, the dates in the margins indicating those hot summer days spent in Belleville after the crash.  
  
The notebook had been Rachel's idea. Harm hadn't been terribly keen on keeping a journal, but she had insisted on it as part of her "evaluation." The entries were sparse at first; short, terse paragraphs that to him didn't seem to serve much purpose. But as the weeks went on before his article 32, while he healed up and tried to make sense of things, the entries became longer, more introspective. Why he'd kept it, he wasn't sure. His eyes fell on a particular paragraph, and he skimmed it briefly. Harm exhaled slowly, his own words echoing back to him the vague unease he was feeling now. His fingers traced the page a moment, and then he reached over to pick up the phone, punching in a familiar number.  
  
"Hi, Gram. It's me, Harm." He grinned to himself as he unconsciously mimicked Bud's telephone message. As if she wouldn't have recognized his voice. The conversation was not long, but it seemed good to Harm to hear her voice. Sarah Rabb had always provided her grandson with a feeling of centeredness. He was looking forward to his upcoming visit, and he said as much during the course of their talk together.  
  
Perhaps ten minutes later, he disconnected from the call and set the phone and the notebook aside. Picking the guitar back up, he started to play once more, feeling a bit more relaxed despite the many questions that still remained concerning Lieutenant Rollins.  
  
  
  
July 11th  
  
1130 Hours  
  
Flight Line, Andrews AFB  
  
Maryland  
  
Harm climbed out of the silver goverment-issue sedan, cover in hand, and walked around to the trunk to retrieve his briefcase as Mac and Bud got out as well. Turning toward the Sea Stealth that was waiting several yards away, he put on his cover and waited while the other two collected their things.  
  
"Ten minutes to spare...not bad." Mac remarked as they started toward the helo. Bud was still juggling his cover and portfolio as they started across the pavement. Harm was about to comment when the squeal of brakes caught his attention and he swung around to see another car pull up alongside the silver sedan. He almost audibly groaned to see Rachel Westlake stride purposefully toward them.  
  
"What are you doing here, Commander?" He asked her pointedly. Rachel simply looked at him curiously.  
  
"Good morning to you too, Mr. Rabb. I'm going with you." She announced her intentions without preamble, and Harm frowned.  
  
"I don't think so, Commander. There were no arrangements madeâ€""  
  
"Uhm, sir..." Bud interrupted. "Yes, there were...I made them."  
  
Harm wheeled around to look at the lieutenant j.g., his eyes narrowing slightly.  
  
"Just when did you plan on telling me that, Bud?"  
  
"I...uhm...did, sir...I left a message on your answering machine." Roberts frowned a moment, trying to remember back to the previous day.  
  
"You said 'all of us,' Bud...I assumed it was just you and the Major and myself." Harm sighed a bit.  
  
"He's my patient, Harm." Rachel replied. "I have a right to know what's going on with his defense, and I'm going to be there."  
  
"Whatever..." Harm raised a hand, not willing to get into an argument over it. He turned and started toward the helicopter once again. After a moment, the rest of them followed suit.  
  
"Full ship today, eh, Commander?" The helo pilot, a fresh-faced Marine lieutenant, paused in his preflight checklist to greet his passengers. Harm glanced briefly at his companionsâ€"Mac, Rachel, and Budâ€"then offered the lieutenant a small smile.  
  
"You might say so, Lieutenant." Harm settled into his seat and set about fastening the safety harness. "I suppose there are worse things you could be doing than playing chauffeur."  
  
"Yes, sir!" The pilot replied enthusiastically. Harm shook his head slightly this time. Gung-ho Marine. Completely disinterested in small- talk, he proceeded to bury himself in the notes taken during his initial interview of Lieutenant Rollins. He frowned heavily to himself as he looked over the handwritten comments on the legal pad he held. For as routine and unspectacular the mission appeared to be, Rollins could not seem to account for the last three or four minutes prior to the actual crash. It was almost as if those moments between calling the ball and punching out had been effectively erased from his memory. Having walked a mile in Rollins' shoes, with every memory vividly etched in his mind, Harm couldn't quite understand those missing minutes.  
  
Rachel's theory was that the trauma of the crash had forced the lieutenant to repress those memories. That did nothing to bolster Harm's confidence in his case; why bury the memory if there was no fault attached to it? Of course, Rachel's reply had been a stock answer about how the mind was a strange thing, but Harm had pretty much tuned it out. How was he supposed to give Rollins the best he had when there was so little to work with?  
  
Harm was still wrapped up in his thoughts concerning the case when Rachel's voice snapped him back to the present:  
  
"There she is!"  
  
Harm raised his gaze above the legal pad to see that they were indeed approaching the America. Quickly stowing the notepad, he looked at Westlake, a slightly amused expression crossing his features.  
  
"I take it you've never been aboard a carrier before, Commander?" He asked her, then grinned when his assumption was confirmed.  
  
The Sea Stealth bumped to a stop on the America's deck, and the troupe of JAG officers disembarked. Harm's eyes invariably strayed to watch the approach of an incoming Tomcat, but he tried not to let the old longings show as he watched the pilot's smooth trap. The last thing he needed to hear was Rachel psychoanalyzing his past. He'd already been down that road once before.  
  
"Lieutenant Commander Rabb?"  
  
Harm turned to see a junior officer standing just to his left, an ensign offering a crisp salute. Harm returned it and the ensign continued, informing them that the captain would receive them in the CIC.  
  
Some fifteen minutes after reporting, they were on the navigations bridge, watching the video of the ill-fated trap.  
  
"What happened?" Harm murmured softly on their third viewing. "His approach was perfect...on the glide path, good speed and control...until, here." They watched for the third time as the F-18 abruptly wavered, then dipped below the glide path as if something had shoved the nose of the fighter downward. Too late, Rollins had tried to correct his course, and if the LSO had given a wave-off, it was unheeded. The F-18 glanced against the ramp and over the side as pilot and RIO drifted overhead in their chutes.  
  
"Did the LSO wave him off?" Mac asked the first, obvious question. The America's CAG shook his head.  
  
"Not according to the LSO log or the communications tape."  
  
"So no wave-off. Did the LSO think he could still save it?" Mac wondered. This time it was Harm who shook his head.  
  
"No...by the time Rollins even lost it, it was too late to even wave him off. More likely the LSO tried to get him to pick it up."  
  
The tape was on its fourth run, at Harm's request, when the ensign who'd greeted them topside drew near.  
  
"Have the LSO log you requested, sir."  
  
Harm turned from the monitor to receive the log, nodding his acknowledgement as he flipped it open. The day previous to the incident was completely blank, and Harm looked up.  
  
"The America was in port the day before the crash, sir?" He asked the CAG, who was still present.  
  
"That's right. We were docked at Norfolk for twenty four hours, taking on new crew assignments."  
  
Harm tapped the log absently.  
  
"Was shore leave granted that evening, CAG?"  
  
"The majority of the crew went ashore, Commander," The other man confirmed. "with the exception of the pilots and crew that were scheduled for flight duty the next day."  
  
"So Lieutenant Rollins and Lieutenant Woods stayed aboard that night." Harm pressed, returning his gaze to the log.  
  
"Well, no, they didn't." The pilot folded his arms across his chest. "Rollins and Woods weren't originally scheduled to fly that intercept; the pilot who was supposed to take that mission came down with a twenty-four hour bug."  
  
"So it's possible that you had a hung over pilot flying that bird." The disarming lightness of Harm's tone was replaced by something a bit more pointed.  
  
"Not likely." The captain's voice sharpened as well. "Don't even think about leaving this one on my doorstep, Commander."  
  
"With all due respect...'not likely' doesn't sound very definite." Harm pressed, closing the log and setting it aside.  
  
"My men don't go up unless they're combat ready, mister."  
  
Rachel and Mac could only stand there and stare, practically open- mouthed, at the exchange. Rachel had spoken to Terry Rollins before the drive to Andrews, and for the first time the lieutenant had seemed comfortable with Harm as his defense council. She couldn't picture that opinion remaining for long after this. For her own part, Mac might have very well followed the same line of questioning, but she was supposed to prosecute.  
  
July 11th  
  
1345 Hours  
  
North of Union Station  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Try as she might, Meg couldn't seem to concentrate on her book. It wasn't for lack of interest; the novel was by John Grisham, one of her favorite authors, and the cover had caught her attention in the store right away. Doesn't have anything to do with the fact that Becca gave me these days to spend time with Harm, does it? Meg started to push away the thought, but then shrugged as she set her book aside. It was entirely possible that she just didn't know what to do with herself. Most of her personal leave time had revolved around visits to her family in Texas, and her life at JAG and now Naval Intelligence had left her very little personal time.  
  
It was comfortable, though, sitting here in Harm's apartment, drinking his coffee and reading. Or trying to read. Meg smiled as she picked up her mug and sipped at its contents. She wondered briefly how things were progressing on the America. Harm had mentioned the helo trip to the carrier over breakfast; his invitation for pancakes was how she'd come to be sitting here now. Their conversation had reminded her of their visit to the Seahawk during their days as partners at JAG.  
  
Unfolding her long legs and rising from the couch, Meg placed the coffee mug onto a nearby end table. Up the steps, around the opaque-glass partition toward Harm's bathroom, her gaze was arrested by a notebook that laid sprawled open on his bed. Harm was nothing if not orderly in his own apartment, even if his desk at work sometimes wanted some attention. The out-of-place item caught her attention. Idly she leaned down and picked it up, glancing at the handwritten pages.  
  
Today Rachel made me talk about the funeral. I haven't really thought about it too much since I came to Pennsylvania, but I'm thinking about it now. It was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.  
  
Meg realized with a start that she was reading about Harm's Tomcat crash, something that they had never discussed in depth before, and felt almost like an eavesdropper on a private conversation. She started to put the notebook back where she'd found it, when the words 'my fault' in Harm's familiar scrawl caught her eye. Slowly she sat down on the edge of the bed. John Grisham was forgotten as she read the words of Harmon Rabb, Jr.  
  
It was my fault; I should've known better. It was stupid to think that I could just go and not face some sort of reaction. To be honest, I think it was only fair for Mace to let me have it like that. If I'd had a brother like Tony, I'd have slugged me too. It's still so hard to believe this is happening. It's like a nightmare I can't wake up from.  
  
Meg bit her lower lip as she finished reading the entry. Harm's scribbled commentary described how he'd persuaded his way out of a hospital bed to Arlington for the ceremony, how much it had hurt to stand there both physically and mentally, and the details of his subsequent confrontation with his RIO's brother. The words only covered one side of the page; as Meg turned it, there was only blank space on the other side before the page opposite picked up with a different entry. She paused a moment, lifting her head. Her gaze fell on Harm's dress whites, hanging in the closet under clear plastic. Meg could see the glint of golden wings pinned on the left breast above the ribbons, and she realized like never before at what cost he still wore them.  
  
Looking back down at the notebook she held in one hand, Meg touched the page with the fingertips of the other, and then carefully flipped back all of the pages to the beginning.  
  
July 11th  
  
1440 Hours  
  
U.S.S. America  
  
Somewhere in the Atlantic  
  
Harm poured himself a cup of coffee in the officers' mess, then carried it back towards a table in the corner, well away from everyone else. Mac and Rachel were elsewhere, but at the moment he wasn't too concerned with it. He was defense; anything Mac came up with under the rules of disclosure he would get eventually. Right now he just needed a break. Sitting down, he sipped at the black coffee and rubbed his eyes.  
  
"This seat taken?"  
  
Harm drew his hand away from his face to see Rachel standing there, and he actually grimaced a little, but moved his feet from where he'd propped them on the opposite chair so she could sit down.  
  
"It is now." He replied tiredly. Rachel regarded him a moment, then settled down across from him. Harm merely drank more of his coffee, not even looking at her. They sat in silence for a long moment before Rachel finally spoke.  
  
"Mind telling me what's up your sleeve, Counselor?"  
  
Harm glanced up from his coffee cup, having been about to take another swallow. He frowned briefly in that moment's pause, then completed his intention. Rachel waited patiently, steadily watching him drink the hot liquid, her blue eyes barely blinking. Harm set aside the cup, the motion deliberate and unhurried.  
  
"Excuse me?" He finally responded, turning his own gaze toward her at last. Rachel didn't answer right away; she was caught by the look in his eyes. It was a guarded expression, cautious. Harm Rabb had never exactly been what she would call 'transparent', even when they'd been...close. But this look now...she knew she was being held at arm's length, and even though she didn't blame him, it somehow still hurt a little. That thought made her glance down at her hands, clasped in front of her on the table. She wished suddenly that she'd gotten some coffee as well.  
  
"You know what I mean. You've spent most of your time establishing the prosecution's case rather than your own." Westlake asserted. "You might as well just gift-wrap Terrance for the Major."  
  
"I haven't established anything." Harm countered defensively. "I just want the truth. And if I can't get it from the lieutenant, I'll have to find it on my own. That means knowing what I'm up against. Mac would've discovered the lieutenant's drinking habits on her own. And used them to their full advantage in court. I just have to prove that he wasn't impaired when he went up."  
  
Rachel regarded Harm thoughtfully. He'd all but accused the America's CAG of letting Terrance Rollins fly under the influence, and that had only been their first interview of the day! She wondered if Harm was being honest in his intentions, or if he was just looking for an excuse to hang Rollins out to dry, despite his assurances to the contrary.  
  
"But you don't believe it yourself."  
  
"Doesn't matter what I believe, Commander. Only matters what I can prove or disprove." Harm swirled what was left of his coffee around in the cup, his expression a little sour.  
  
"That's a pretty cold way to look at it."  
  
"That's the only way to look at it." Harm finished the coffee with a quick swallow. Rachel's expression became quite earnest, and she leaned forward a little.  
  
"Look, if it's me you have a problem with..." She started hesitantly, unsure how to say it. Harm's eyes narrowed a little bit, and he shoved the coffee cup aside to lean forward on the table.  
  
"This isn't about you." He said authoritatively. Westlake sat back in her chair, blinking a little at his tone of voice. Harm had kept his voice low, but the inflection in the words had been sharp, like a razor blade. "What it is about is making sure the truth is told. And that's all, Commander."  
  
Before Rachel could make any sort of a reply, however, they were interrupted by the arrival of Bud Roberts.  
  
"Sir, you're wanted in the Com roomâ€"" Bud started in that manner he had of barging into a conversation before he'd even realized he was interrupting. "I'm sorry, Commander, I didn't realizeâ€""  
  
"It's okay, Bud." Harm replied as he rose to his feet. "I was finished with my coffee anyway." The implication of his words was not lost on Rachel, who simply met his gaze, not willing to back down. Bud glanced from one to the other, his expression mildly puzzled. Harm turned and motioned for the lieutenant j.g. to proceed.  
  
Rachel watched as the two men left the room. She sighed softly. This certainly wasn't getting any easier, and she had no clue how to keep it from getting any harder. She only hoped that, for Lieutenant Rollins' sake, that she could keep things...contained. Suddenly she smiled to herself. Containment was not something she would normally associate with Harmon Rabb, Jr. Maybe she would take a break herself, get some of that coffee. She needed to figure out what to do next.  
  
"Because," She murmured to herself, "I'm not about to give up just yet, Harm Rabb."  
  
SIX  
  
July 11th  
  
1500 Hours  
  
Officer's Wardroom, U.S.S. America  
  
Somewhere in the Atlantic  
  
Mac closed her notepad and slipped her pen into the top, considering the outcome of the interview she'd just finished. Whatever Harm's game was this time, he had gotten her off to a good start. Apparently Terrance Rollins, while not exactly exhibiting the signs of full-blown alcoholism, certainly wasn't shy about taking a few drinks. It might not be a completely solid case, but nevertheless seemed to lean in the direction of negligence. It's a good start, she reflected again, but her features unconsciously puckered into a frown even as the thought crossed her mind. So why are you so unhappy about it?  
  
Getting up from where she'd been seated and gathering her things together, Mac suddenly realized why she was so bothered. It was Harm...and his seeming lack of strategy. Usually when they were on opposing sides of the courtroom, he played things much more cagey. This time it was like...he almost wanted to hand it to her, gift-wrapped, even.  
  
The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. Apparently he was throwing her a bone, and it rankled her to think that he would be so...condescending. It seemed that there was no easy opposition to Harm Rabb in court. If he wasn't sandbagging her, he was patronizing her. Unconsciously she squared her shoulders, deciding with characteristic Marine resolve that she would just have to have a few words with the sailor and set him straight.  
  
The hatch swung open abruptly and Mac turned, startled, to see Harm sticking his head into the room. Before she could say anything, however, he was already speaking.  
  
"Pack it up, Major. We're on a helo out of here."  
  
"Whaâ€"?" Mac started to protest, but Harm was already out of the room. She followed him into the corridor. "Harm? Harm!" He turned around to face her, and his expression was one of extreme distaste.  
  
"My client is...missing." In fairness to his position as defense, he stopped just shy of saying, 'AWOL'. Harm spun back around. "And collect the good doctor while you're at it."  
  
Mac stood there, almost open-mouthed. Just what the devil was going on here? She watched his retreating back until he turned a corner, and then sighed in frustration. She returned to the wardroom and snatched up her things, muttering under her breath something about "collecting" not being part of her job description.  
  
July 11th  
  
1845 Hours  
  
North of Union Station  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
My Article 32 is scheduled to begin in a few days, and I really don't know what to expect. Tomorrow I'll pack to go back to D.C. Maybe I'll be court-martialed; I know I'll lose my wings. All I can do is tell the truth and represent myself as an officer of the United States' Navy. Maybe I'll make a trip to the Wall. I can't help but think that Dadâ€"  
  
The entry ended in mid-sentence, as if Harm had been interrupted. Or more likely, he simply couldn'tâ€"or wouldn'tâ€"verbalize the things he was feeling. Meg traced the painful words lightly with a fingertip, imagining how hard it must have been for a young Lieutenant Rabb to shoulder those kinds of burdens.  
  
He's still carrying some of them, the thought whispered in her mind.  
  
It was the last entry in the journal; a quick flipping of subsequent pages revealed only blank paper. More than likely Harm had simply never picked up the little book again once he'd left Belleville for passage into whatever his dark future held for him.  
  
Until now.  
  
Meg glanced back toward the bedroom, not quite able to see the bed from her vantage point. She wondered exactly what it was about this pilot error case that had prompted him to dig up this particular piece of his past. Logically speaking, the investigation had to be the trigger. But why this one? Harm had investigated other pilot downings.  
  
She opened the notebook back to the place it had been when she'd first discovered it; her thumb had been holding the place. Her intentions to replace it on the bed were interrupted by the ringing of the telephone, and she paused a moment on the short steps up to the bedroom. A few moments later, the answering machine clicked on, and Harm's familiar voice encouraged the usual message-leaving. Beep.  
  
"Hey, Meg...it's me, Harm...if you're there, pick up..."  
  
Meg hurried across the room to the phone, the notebook still in hand.  
  
"Hiya, Harm."  
  
"Good, you're still there...I figured since you weren't at your place that you got lost in that book."  
  
"Uhm...yeah." Meg stammered, a bit of guilt pricking her conscience. "Something like that." Another thought came to her, and she switched subjects. "Where are you? I thought you were on the America, but there's no way this is a ship-to-shore connection."  
  
"I'm calling from a car. Meg, my client has gone UA." Harm hastily explained. "We're on our way to Pax River."  
  
"I thought you said this guy wasn't over the edge." Meg shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and was aware of something fluttering out of the back of the notebook. However, she was too intent on the current conversation to worry about it just yet.  
  
"What I said was, I didn't know. But I don't think he is. He's just...got a very active guilt complex." Harm explained, and Meg nodded, even though she knew he couldn't see her. Was it her imagination, or was his voice tinged with his own regrets?  
  
"Is that your assessment, or his psych's?" Meg asked carefully, knowing how involved Harm could become with his clients' causes. Gunnery Sergeant Ray Crockett came to mind almost immediately, as well as Colonel Matthew Anderson, men for whom Harm had taken some measure of personal risk to insure their safety as well as their defenses. From what little Harm had told her so far, it seemed like he wasn't too sure what to make of this particular case. And this last little twist didn't do much to reassure her.  
  
"Commander Westlake thinks he's mentally competent to stand trial, if that's what you mean." Harm was avoiding her question, and Meg knew it. "Listen, I know I promised you dinner and a movie tonight, but...I don't know how long I'm going to be here, and I just wanted you to know what was going on."  
  
"Harm..." Meg started, finally bending down to retrieve the item that had fallen out of the notebook. "Be careful."  
  
"I will." He promised, and she could hear a note of warmth and apology in his tone as he continued, "I love you."  
  
Harm's feelings weren't often open to discussion; the verbal admission was enough to make Meg's pulse race a little faster. The connection was broken, and Meg turned the little item over in her hand; it was a photograph. The picture was of a shorter blonde woman, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, standing next to a yellow biplane that Meg could only assume was the infamous Sarah. The woman was smiling broadly, one hand on the side of the plane. There was something...vaguely familiar about the picture, but Meg couldn't quite put a finger on it. She turned it again, looking at the back more carefully than when she'd picked it up. There, in the corner, was Harm's handwriting, a little smudged against the photo- paper: Lt. Rachel Westlake & Sarah, Belleville.  
  
July 11th  
  
2030 Hours  
  
Patuxent Naval Air Station  
  
Patuxent River, Maryland  
  
It was a tired foursome that arrived at Pax River. Harm tucked his cover beneath his arm as he stepped into the building that housed the offices of the base commander. It had been a long day, but his stride was purposeful. To Rachel it almost appeared as if he was trying to lose the rest of them; even Mac was having a hard time matching his pace.  
  
The search was already well underway by the time they were briefed on the situation. The general consensus seemed to be that Lieutenant Rollins most likely hadn't gotten very far, considering the nature of his disability. Even driving a car, assuming that he had taken one, wouldn't be very easy for him.  
  
"I'd like to start in his quarters." Rachel asserted, and Harm turned an upraised eyebrow to her.  
  
"I think it's pretty safe to assume he's not hiding under the bed."  
  
Rachel ignored his sarcasm, and continued to address the Marine captain who was directing the search operation.  
  
"He might inadvertently left some sort of clue as to where he's going, or what he's up to." Rachel continued.  
  
"We've already looked through the place, ma'am."  
  
"I still want to start there." Westlake insisted.  
  
Harm shrugged slightly. There was no faulting the logic behind Rachel's request, but it had been a full day of squaring off with her. Both of them knew it wasn't likely to change any time soon.  
  
"Lead on." He indicated with a wave of his cover in the general direction of the door.  
  
Lieutenant Rollins' quarters were quite the surprise to Harm when he flicked on the light switch. In contrast to the last time he was here, the entire place was squared away. The neatness was such that there was very little sign at all of anyone having lived there for nearly a month.  
  
"Did you do this, Captain?" Harm asked the Marine, who had accompanied them out to the BOQ.  
  
"No, sir. Everything is just the way we found it, sir. Lieutenant Rollins apparently neatened up before buggin' out. We didn't see any reason to tear up the place."  
  
"Not a very efficient search, then, was it?" Rachel said, brushing past Harm to enter more fully into the room. It was more a statement than a question, and Harm had no doubt as to whom it was truly directed. She began to rifle through desk drawers, while Harm proceeded to the closet, opening the doors and looking inside. Mac made her way into the bathroom, and Bud started poking around the rest of the room. All the while, the Marine captain stood by, arms folded, his expression almost daring them to find something that his men had not turned up.  
  
"Definitely not under the bed, sir." Bud remarked kiddingly. Harm turned just enough to give him a wise look, and Bud ducked his head a little.  
  
"Nothing here, either." Harm concluded his sweep of the closet in fairly short order. He stepped away and drifted a few steps to the nightstand. Something just beneath the stand caught his eye, and he bent to retrieve it. It was a small notepad. Neither Rachel nor Bud had seen him pick it up. Mac was still in the head, and the Marine's view had been partially obscured by the bed. Harm quietly pocketed the item in his blazer, then drifted over towards the desk, where Rachel was just closing the last drawer. "Anything?" He asked her innocently.  
  
"Nothing." She seemed almost disappointed. Harm wasn't quite sure if it was just because there were no obvious clues to her client's whereabouts, or if it was because she wasn't getting the opportunity to prove him wrong.  
  
"I think we can move along now." Harm replied lightly. He moved past the Marine captain, who was still standing in the doorway, and walked a few feet away. Pulling the notepad and a pen from his pocket, he lightly shaded over the top sheet, hoping to tell from the impressions on the pad what might have been written there. He wasn't disappointed.  
  
Harm returned them to his pocket just as Mac was coming out, followed by Rachel and Bud. He briefly glanced away, then turned and motioned to Rachel to join him.  
  
"What now?" Westlake wanted to know. Harm leaned a little closer, his words quiet and conspiratorial.  
  
"I need you to keep the Major busy." He directed a quick gaze toward Mac, and Rachel followed it with a look of her own.  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"I think I know where the lieutenant might be...and I need you to keep her occupied. She is prosecuting, remember?"  
  
Rachel's eyes narrowed a little bit as she looked up at Harm. He was up to something; she could see it.  
  
"Harmâ€""  
  
"Just do it." Before Westlake could protest any further, Harm turned around and walked away. Rachel watched him go until he was enveloped by darkness and she couldn't see him any longer. Shaking her head a little bit, she turned back toward Mac and Bud, who were still drilling the Marine captain.  
  
"Keep her busy. Right."  
  
July 11th  
  
2050 Hours  
  
Cmdr. Rebecca Ryan's Residence  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Becca hummed along to the strains of Bonnie Raitt in the CD player as she fixed her 'bachelorette special'â€"angel hair pasta and chickenâ€"and prepared to spend a quiet night unwinding with a movie. It wasn't until the pasta was already boiling on the stove when her plans were interrupted by the sound of a knock at the door. Wiping her hands on a handtowel, she walked over and opened the door a crack. Meg Austin was standing on the other side.  
  
"Good evening, ma'am." Meg said politely. "I hope this isn't a bad time..."  
  
"Not at all." Becca smiled warmly. "Come in, Meg. And you know here it's 'Becca'." She stepped aside to allow the blonde lieutenant entrance, and closed the door after her as Meg drifted further into the living area. "Can I get you something to drink?"  
  
"No thank you." Meg turned back to follow Ryan's movements from the door towards the kitchen, eventually following along behind her and taking up station in the doorway. "I'm sorry; I'm interrupting your dinnerâ€""  
  
"Don't be silly. I'll just toss on a little extra." Becca was already moving to dump more pasta into the pot on the stove, before Meg could really protest. She took a pair of plates out of the next cupboard over, and faced her junior officer. The two women talked while Becca cooked and Meg set the table, discussing "shop" and various other things, small talk, really.  
  
It wasn't until they actually sat down to eat that Becca finally asked Meg what was on her mind. It was obvious that Austin had come to discuss something of importance; the blonde lieutenant wasn't in the habit of simply barging in on people unannounced and uninvited. Meg twirled a bit of pasta around her fork, even as she turned the questions over in her mind.  
  
"You've known Commander Rabb...Harm, for a long time, haven't you?" It was more a comment than a real question.  
  
"I've known Harm since he was about eight years old." Ryan confirmed with a nod, and then she smiled. "I probably know more embarrassing stories about him than his mother."  
  
"I might have to ask you about some of those sometime." Meg smiled back before turning serious once again. "Becca...what do you remember...about Harm's crash?"  
  
Ryan's eyes narrowed a little bit as she considered the question she was being asked. Next to his father's downing in Vietnam, Harm's Tomcat crash had been the most defining and devastating event of his life.  
  
"I assume there's a reason why you're asking." Becca prompted, knowing that there must be more to this than simple curiosity. "Have you talked to Harm about it?"  
  
"No...I..." Meg hesitated, then plunged ahead, telling Ryan about her 'day off' at Harm's apartment, the pilot error case he was investigating, and her inadvertent discovery of the journal.  
  
Becca exhaled softly, even as the memories came back to her.  
  
"You think it's hanging him up on this investigation?" She asked frankly.  
  
"I don't know for sure." Meg admitted. "Whether it is or not, it's at least been on his mind."  
  
Becca nodded, taking a sip of wine. Might as well begin at the beginning, with her one and only visit to Harm in Belleville after the crash.  
  
July 11th  
  
2103 Hours  
  
Patuxent Naval Air Station  
  
Patuxent River, Maryland  
  
Hangar Twelve was basically dark, except for a small light at the far end. Harm slipped inside the hangar doors, and quietly proceeded towards the F-18 wreckage. He was alone as far as he could see, but he knew he wasn't. He stood silently next to the remains of the cockpit and waited.  
  
"What are you doing here, sir?"  
  
The voice was soft, but unmistakeable. Harm turned around to see Terrance Rollins approaching him from the shadows, a small penlight in his hand, leaning on his cane.  
  
"I could ask you the same, Lieutenant." He replied quietly, watching as Rollins limped painfully but determinedly towards him. "If the prosecution finds out about you being here, you could be accused of tampering with evidence."  
  
"I know that." Rollins stopped just shy of his counselor. "How'd you know where to find me, Commander?" Harm produced the tiny notepad with the shaded page up. In the midst of smudged pen ink, were faint outlines that said, 'H-12 1630.'  
  
"And you've been waiting here since 1400 hours?" Harm asked as he tucked the note back into his pocket.  
  
"That's right." Rollins turned away a little. The beam of his penlight played all along the scattered wreckage of the fighter, coming to rest on what was left of the cockpit. "I've been...doing a lot of thinking, sir."  
  
Harm recognized that tone of voice, and he nodded. He could imagine just what kind of thinking the young lieutenant had been doing; had done enough of that sort of thing in his own past. The second-guessing, the anguish, the guilt. Terrance's gaze had drifted down to pieces of the wreckage.  
  
"Talk to me." Harm suddenly found himself pacing, moving slowly and deliberately around the perimeter of the wrecked fighter. "Tell me what happened up there."  
  
"Sir?" Rollins blinked, uncertain. "I thought you already took my statement."  
  
"I did." Harm replied. "I want to hear it again. See if there was anything you missed, anything you could've forgotten. Start from the moment you set foot on the flight deck." He looked up from his pacing, just in time to see the blank expression on Rollins' face. It was as if the lieutenant was looking into a time and place far removed from this hangar, and Harm paused. "Lieutenant?" He prompted. Rollins said nothing, almost as if mesmerized by whatever was playing in his mind's eye, and Harm frowned tightly. "Lieutenant!"  
  
At first, there was still no response, only a small twitch, and Harm almost wanted to shake some sense into him. But after another moment's silence, the pilot finally blinked and looked up at him.  
  
"Sir..." He said slowly, almost as if trying to gather his scattered thoughts from the four corners of the hangar. Harm resumed his walking, folding his arms across his chest.  
  
"Give me something to work with." He said quietly, but forcefully, allowing his tone to carry the urgency home to his client. "Give me something more than just...good intentions and remorse. Take me up with you...start from the beginning."  
  
"It was perfect, you know...perfect day to take up a bird. You know the kind, sir..."  
  
Harm inclined his head slightly as he walked, listening to the lieutenant walk him through the events of that fateful morning. He did know. Perhaps knew it now more than he had when he was an active pilot. Sunshine and glory. Nothing else like it in the world.  
  
SEVEN  
  
July 12th  
  
0615 Hours  
  
Lafayette Park  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Harm picked up his pace a bit, his legs beginning to feel the work of his daily run. There was something almost therapeutic in the rhythm of his strides, the feel of the morning breeze on his face, and the sun on his shoulders that made it much more than just a "workout." Often, it afforded him some "thinking space," and a little peace, which wasn't such a bad exchange for a little physical punishment.  
  
He rounded a bend in the running path. Becoming aware of the pounding of footsteps behind him, Harm drifted leftward to allow the other person to pass him. He was surprised when, instead of going by, the other runner drew alongside and matched his pace. He was even more surprised when he glanced to his right and realized his companion was Rachel Westlake.  
  
"Good morning, Commander." Rachel greeted pleasantly. "I see you're still masochistic enough to be a morning person and enjoy it."  
  
"Come on, Rach." Harm chuckled. "Don't tell me the Navy's still trying to break you into the early morning scene."  
  
"The Navy's tried for almost a decade, Harm, and they haven't accomplished that little feat yet." Westlake replied, reaching over to punch his arm.  
  
"Coffee and croissants." Harm shook his head.  
  
"Hmm..." Rachel got out between breaths. "After 0900, preferably."  
  
Harm laughed aloud now. He glanced over at her, noticing that she was having no problem keeping up with him, despite her disadvantage in height.  
  
"Well, I must have done something right; looks like you've been keeping in practice."  
  
Westlake smiled sheepishly as they turned another bend in the path.  
  
"Believe it or not, I've gotten used to this abuse." She made a face at him briefly. "I actually ran a marathon a year or so ago." Her expression softened for a moment, and she looked over at him, running beside her. "I remember running on that dirt road at the back of your grandmother's property."  
  
"Uh huh. All the way...to the Landis place...and back."  
  
Rachel nodded to herself, remembering that first morning he had dragged her out at almost 0600 to go running after Sarah Rabb had insisted she spend the night in the other guestroom. She had been unprepared for that, but Harm had refused to take her psychological exam unless she came jogging with him. Reluctantly she had dressed in shorts and a T and joined him. She remembered coming out of the house and having her attention immediately drawn by the bandages that were swathed around most of his right thigh, and the lower part of his calf; almost the entire leg was wrapped in layers of white gauze. She recalled how painful it had been for him, but he'd gone running anyway, a small indication of his perseverance.  
  
She glanced to her left now, taking note of the scars the burns had left behind on his arm and leg, showing up pale against his tanned skin. Scars of the heart, however, aren't always so obvious...  
  
"So are you going to tell me exactly what happened last night, or not?" Rachel finally asked. Harm had pretty much left her to hold the bag with Major MacKenzie and holding the bag with a Marine, even a lawyer, was not her idea of a pleasant evening. For her own part, Mac hadn't been terribly pleased with her partner's vanishing act either. Just when Rachel was beginning to wonder if there was going to be a naval funeral in the very near future, Harm had returned, with his client in tow. Subsequent discussions with the base CO resulted in Lieutenant Rollins continuing to remain confined to base. Nothing more drastic was required, Harm had argued, since the lieutenant had never departed from base property.  
  
"What's to tell? He once was lost and now he's found?" Harm replied lightly. Rachel scowled at his pun on 'Amazing Grace.'  
  
"You could start by telling me where you found him."  
  
"Attorney-client privelege." Harm's answer came almost immediately, and Rachel stopped running. The halt was so sudden and complete that Harm overshot her by several paces before he turned back to face her. "What? I'm sure you invoke that all the time. Just...don't worry about it." He waved a hand dismissively.  
  
"Don't worry about it? About last night, or about you holding out on me?"  
  
"Both." Harm answered, his expression almost daring her to make an issue out of it. "Now, are you going to let me finish this course today or what?"  
  
Rachel sighed. It would do no good to keep prying at this point; it was quite obvious that Harm didn't want her to know, for whatever reason. And until that changed, it was like arguing with a brick wall. The stubbornness...yes, that she remembered well. She came closer, poking his chest with a finger.  
  
"Just try to keep up."  
  
July 12th  
  
0720 Hours  
  
JAG Headquarters  
  
Falls Church, Virginia  
  
Mac exited her office, perusing a case file. Glancing up, she directed herself towards Bud Roberts' desk, still looking over the documents in the file as she went.  
  
"Ma'am?" The lieutenant j.g. did a double-take at her approach, recognizing the determined set to her features and he instinctively straightened in his chair, anticipating whatever she might say. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd been caught in the middle when the major and the commander had been on opposite sides of the courtroom, and it wouldn't surprise him if she had something up the proverbial sleeve now.  
  
"Bud, have you been able to arrange a visit with the RIO at Bethesda?" Mac asked curiously. Her dark eyes looked over the folder's edge persuasively as she raised her gaze from her reading.  
  
"Not yet, Major. He's still in ICU, and the doctor says only family is allowed to see him at this time." Roberts replied nervously. He knew Mac was trying to one-up Harm if she could, and he was the commander's aide on this, pretty much by default.  
  
"I see." Mac replied, returning her gaze to the document in front of her. "Bud, I want you to get me the transcripts from this case." She handed the manila folder over to Bud, who glanced at it briefly, then looked up sharply at her.  
  
"Ma'am...this is..." He stammered.  
  
"I know what it is, Bud. I want it before Commander Rabb gets in this morning."  
  
Mac turned back towards her office, almost feeling Bud's eyes on her. Harm was a extremely private person; the only time he'd ever really mentioned anything at all about the accident was to talk to her briefly about restoring the Stearman on his grandmother's farm, in the aftermath of the crash. He'd never mentioned anything about the Article 32, and she instinctively knew that to better prepare her prosecution of Lieutenant Rollins, she was going to have to know something more about the defense. Something more about the defense counselor, is more like it.  
  
Sitting back down at her desk, she pulled the Rollins case file open and regarded it thoughtfully as it laid there before her. She knew Harm would most likely be upset once he found out about this, but she couldn't just let it go. Harriet had mentioned his reaction to the pictures she'd delivered, and Mac was concerned. Harm had said the major had learned to deal with her past as a defender, and so she had. But not without his help, and she had a feeling that before this was all over with, he would be the one facing past demons and needing help to overcome them. Before she, as a Marine and a friend, could aid him in that, she must first "identify the enemy."  
  
July 12th  
  
0730 Hours  
  
North of Union Station  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Harm quickly unlocked his apartment door and pushed the door open, glancing behind him briefly as Rachel came up the last couple of steps behind him.  
  
"You sure this is not a problem?" Westlake was asking as Harm headed for the kitchen.  
  
"Nope." He replied, grabbing a glass and rumaging in the refrigerator for some orange juice. "Ladies first...towels are on the shelf." Harm grinned. "Don't use up all the hot water."  
  
Rachel draped the garment bag that carried her uniform over the back of a chair and hurried back towards the bathroom; there wasn't much time if they were both going to get showers and get back to JAG.  
  
For his own part, after the glass of juice, Harm stripped off his tank top, still damp from his run, and tossed it into the hamper. Running water was heard a moment later, and he quietly returned to the living room to wait his turn. On his way through, his eye was caught briefly by the picture of himself and the Stearman, and he sighed softly. The way things were shaping up, there wasn't much chance of that weekend getaway to Belleville; he was going to have to call his grandmother today and explain.  
  
"I want you to see something." Harm edged past the wooden door; it's hinges were rusty from age, just barely allowing them access to the old barn. Rachel slipped in behind him, her eyes slowly becoming accustomed to the darker interior. The barn still smelled of hay and horses, even though it hadn't been used in years.  
  
"What is it?" She asked, peering at the looming shape before them, obscured by the tarp and semi-darkness of the barn. Harm turned to the lantern that hung on the wall and lit it, shedding a bit more light on things.  
  
"Help me get this thing off." He motioned to the tarp, and picked up one end. Rachel reluctantly took the other side, and together they started to pull off the rugged canvas. Westlake was surprised to find the item underneath was a biplane. A rather disused and possibly abused biplane, from the looks of it. Harm stood there a long moment, just looking at it.  
  
"A plane?" She asked curiously. "What's your grandmother doing with a plane in her barn?" There was no answer for a long moment, and Rachel looked up at him. "Lieutenant?"  
  
"A classic, 1929 Stearman." Harm reached up to touch the wing, an almost reverence in the motion. There was a faraway look in his eyes, an expression of vulnerability that Rachel had not seen before. "It was my grandfather's."  
  
"Looks it." Westlake remarked, coming closer and taking her own inventory of the craft.  
  
"Gram said that Dad wanted to rebuild her someday...when I was old enough to help..." Harm's voice was soft. "I didn't know she'd kept it all this time."  
  
"Tell me about your Dad." She asked quietly, sitting down on an old barrel. Harm glanced back at her briefly before returning his attention to the Stearman.  
  
"I was five when he was shot down over Vietnam." His statement of fact didn't seem to invite much conversation. Rachel said nothing, just waited patiently. Harm finally shrugged a little, climbing the wing and peering into the Stearman's back seat. "I guess that had a lot to do with why I wanted to fly for the Navy. I've always wondered what he would think about it."  
  
"Well, if he was anything like his mother, I'm sure he'd have been proud of you."  
  
Harm came out of his memories as he became aware of a light knocking on his door. Getting up, he glanced briefly at the photo of the Stearman again on his way to see who his guest was.  
  
"Thought you might like some bagels from Caffery's...." Meg breezed into the apartment, all blue eyes and smiles. "I even picked up extra cream cheese."  
  
"Little out of your way, isn't it?" Harm asked as he closed the door behind her, his tone amused. Meg smiled back at him.  
  
"I took a detour past Becca's last night." She explained. "Since you were otherwise occupied." A saucy toss of blonde curls, and Meg was heading into the kitchen. "You do have coffee this morning, right?"  
  
"Well, yes, Iâ€""  
  
"Harm, the shower's all yours..."  
  
The moment could have been frozen in time for the sudden stillness that fell in the apartment. Rachel had appeared, wrapped in Harm's robe and towel-drying her hair. For his own part, Harm sucked in a shallow breath, the realization of what it looked like exploding into his consciousness like a Sidewinder missile.  
  
Meg stood at the counter for a moment, trying not to look like she'd been hit with a brick. A moment later, however, recognition struck her, and she frowned briefly to herself. The woman standing there in Harm's robe looked vaguely familiar. Where have Iâ€" The photograph that had been in Harm's Belleville journal. Meg's eyes widened slightly as she realized this was the same woman.  
  
"We...were out running." Harm explained, wincing inwardly at how lame that sounded, even to himself. "Lieutenant Meg Austin...Lieutenant Commander Rachel Westlake."  
  
"Good morning, Lieutenant." Rachel said cordially, then glanced at Harm. "I'll...be back in a few minutes." Gathering her garment bag up, she returned to the bathroom to dress.  
  
"So did you find your client last night?" Meg asked, proceeding to pull a pair of plates from the dish drainer and then to deposit the contents of the bagel bag onto them.  
  
"What?" Harm blinked, the change in topic catching him almost by as much surprise.  
  
"Your client...you know, the one that was missing?" Meg glanced at him, her tone even and her blue eyes calm and curious.  
  
"I...uhm...yeah. He was still on the base." Harm took a few steps closer to her. "So technically he wasn't UA."  
  
"So a little silver-tongued reasoning kept him out of the brig." Meg nudged one of the plates toward him.  
  
"Yes, but..." Harm hesitated a moment. Meg heard the catch and looked at him again before returning her attention to the bagels.  
  
"But what?" She prompted after a moment. Harm shuffled his feet guiltily a moment, then sighed.  
  
"But I won't be able to keep our flying date for this weekend. I was just getting ready to call Gram when you knocked on the door." He knew that this wasn't exactly the best moment in time to break the date, especially with Rachel dressing in his bathroom, but he also knew that he wasn't likely to catch her again until late. Harm watched as Meg crossed the room and picked up the Grisham novel she had left on the end table the day before.  
  
"Enjoy the bagels."  
  
A moment later she had crossed the room and was out the door, before Harm even had a chance to say anything more.  
  
"You're a regular genius, Rabb." He muttered to himself.  
  
"She's right, Harm. We've gotta get going." Rachel reappeared now, clad  
  
in her summer whites and fussing with the hairclip at the back of her head. Harm paused a moment, shaking his head slightly at the thoughts that were tumbling around inside. Finally he headed for the shower, and he waved absently toward the countertop as he passed Rachel by.  
  
"Have a bagel."  
  
  
  
July 12th  
  
0755 Hours  
  
JAG Headquarters  
  
Falls Church, Virginia  
  
Bud stepped off the elevator, dodging his way around a pair of officers who were waiting for the lift. A quick glance at his watch told him he had bare minutes remaining to fulfill the Major's request for the files that were in his hands. Commander Rabb would arrive any minute now, and Bud didn't want to be in the line of fire when he did. Just as he was reaching the bullpen area, Harriet approached him with her own stack of files to begin her day's work.  
  
"Bud...what's wrong?" She asked instinctively, recognizing the distressed  
  
look on his face. Bud glanced around, then stepped closer; even though the bullpen was still fairly quiet, he didn't want to be overheard.  
  
"Major MacKenzie had me pull Commander Rabb's Article 32 file." Roberts murmured quietly. Harriet's brows tucked together in a brief, puzzled frown.  
  
"But as defense, he's not requiredâ€""  
  
"Not that file." Bud interrupted quickly. "His Article 32...from his Tomcat crash."  
  
Sims' surprised expression mirrored Bud's of just a few minutes ago when  
  
he'd realized what Mac was asking of him.  
  
"She's not going to try to get him discounted as defense counsel, is she?"  
  
Harriet's question made Bud think a moment before he shook his head a little.  
  
"Personal bias? I hope not. But I don't think she would...Admiral Chegwidden is completely aware of Commander Rabb's record, and he directly assigned the Commander to the case." He glanced at the clock again. Time was getting away from him! "I...have to go and get this to her." Bud scooted around Harriet and hurried for Mac's office, leaving her to puzzle over this latest bit of scuttlebutt on her own.  
  
Mac's office door was closed, and Bud rapped on it softly. He didn't have long to wait before he heard her call out for him to enter. Bud slipped into the office, the requested files tucked into the crook of his arm and a somewhat guilty expression on his face.  
  
"Bud...you didn't commit a felony here. It's just the transcripts." Somehow the major's reassurance did little to make Bud feel better, and it was reflected in his expression.  
  
"I don't know, ma'am...it's like...it's like we're spying on him." He blurted out suddenly, his unease giving rise to the outburst. Mac gazed at him a moment in near-surprise, reminding herself of her perfectly logical reasoning for digging into Harm's past as she was.  
  
"Don't worry, Bud." Mac soothed again as she received the transcripts from the lieutenant's hands. A few moments later, she had the first folders open. The Article 32 hearing of Lieutenant Harmon Rabb, Jr. was about to convene in her office through the documented history she had before her...  
  
July 12th  
  
0805 Hours  
  
JAG Headquarters  
  
Falls Church, Virginia  
  
Harm breezed into the bullpen area, Rachel in tow, and headed for his office. The usual traffic of personnel to and from and through the office area was a welcome addition to his current company. Neither he nor Westlake had spoken more than a handful of words to each other during the drive from Union Station to Falls Church, and right at the moment, Harm would be just as happy if it stayed that way for awhile.  
  
Rachel, for her own part, was no fool. She had never met Meg Austin before this point, but it didn't take her psychology degree to tell her that there was something between her and Harm Rabb, and Rachel's standing there in Harm's robe hadn't exactly been a relationship-builder for them. So she hadn't pressed him, had even steered clear of discussing the case for the time being; there was plenty of time today for continuing that.  
  
Only five minutes past, and already the early mail had arrived, sitting in a neat stack in his "in" basket awaiting a letter opener. Harm made short work of the pile; very little of it was actually anything pressing, and those few items that were could be handed off to Mac or Bud, leaving him free to pursue the investigation. He was just about to suggest to Rachel that they get an early start to Pax River, when the phone rang. A second ring sounded as Harm returned the letter opener to the top drawer of his desk, and then he swept the receiver from its cradle in a smooth motion.  
  
"Rabb." He acknowledged, tucking the phone between his chin and shoulder, freeing his hands to gather together a few items he wanted to take to Pax with him. Rachel made a quick motion, indicating that she would wait outside, and she stepped out of Harm's office, closing the door behind her. It didn't take her long to discover the break area, and the pot of hot coffee that waited within it, and she set about pouring herself a cup. Cream and sugar.  
  
There was no one else present, so she simply leaned back against the counter, taking a first tentative sip of the steaming coffee and allowing her mind to wander. Her first thoughts were practical ones, things to do with bills and casefiles and whether or not her neighbor was remembering to water the houseplants while she was gone. But eventually, as the minutes ticked by, her thoughts returned to this investigation...and Harm Rabb. It was almost surreal, being a part of one another's lives again, no matter how temporarily. Rachel sipped more coffee, crossing her feet absently as she continued to lean on the counter, feeling the warmth of the mug in her hands.  
  
She supposed she should apologize. That wasn't necessarily Ph.D. material, either, although apologies to Harmon Rabb had never been something she was particularly good at.  
  
Rachel watched absently as Harm leaned far into the Stearman's innards, tinkering with some small engine part that she could only begin to guess at. A portable radio sat a few feet away, playing a mix of top forty tunes, an almost annoying presence to her, who valued the kinds of quiet, undistracted conversation that helped her ply her trade. Relative silence, she often said, wasn't just golden...it was worth the whole damn vault at Fort Knox.  
  
It had been silent between them for several minutes; the only sounds were those of the radio and the sounds of metal on metal as Harm worked his way around the engine with wrenches and screwdrivers. The basics, he had told her, were all there...the classic plane just needed some work "from the inside out." It seemed to Rachel that restoring the old aircraft was a monumental task, but she knew that car buffs did much the same thing, scouring the country for just the right parts to bring a classic back to life.  
  
'In a way,' She mused thoughtfully, 'it's not all that different from what  
  
I do, except instead of restoring broken-down airplanes and automobiles, I'm bringing human beings back to life.'  
  
Like Lieutenant Harmon Rabb, Jr. Her evaluation had gone beyond the standard two-day tests; in fact, she had remained for two weeks, trying to bring him "back to life." They had talked about quite a bit now; Rachel knew about Harm's father and the circumstances that had followed Harm Senior's MIA status. She knew that his favorite color was blue and he liked to go sailing and took his coffee black. Black as midnight, it seemed. She knew that he loved to fly and that the crash haunted his dreams, seizing him with terror and stealing his sleep.  
  
A sudden loud clatter followed by a muffled curse jerked her attention back to the Stearman, where Harm was pulling his arm out from the engine housing, scowling darkly. A curious question received the explanation that he'd dropped a wrench within the casing. He held one hand with the other, and it was apparent that when the wrench had slipped from his grasp, he'd cut his hand.  
  
"Here...let me look." Her tone had almost taken on an edge of command, although they were the same rank and not on duty at any rate. Harm raised an eyebrow at her, and Rachel sighed in exasperation. "Just let me see it before you end up bleeding to death." Harm had laughed at the suggestion of his premature death, but he held out the hand to her anyway. The gash was not deep, but it was bleeding freely, as all wounds so close to the skin tend to. "You should go back to the house, clean this off before we bandage it."  
  
There was no response, and Rachel glanced up to see if he'd even paid attention to her. What she found in his expression made her hold her breath. Those eyes that had failed him on the Seahawk were looking at her with a depth she hadn't seen in them before. Or had she? She felt her cheeks flush as his gaze traveled along the soft curves of her face, and she was suddenly aware of his other hand holding hers.  
  
"Is it fatal?" He asked with gentle humor, and Rachel found herself wanting to back away, but somehow she couldn't make herself move. Even as she felt herself wanting to respond to his nearness, she also knew she had a job to do here.  
  
"Lieutenant, please..." Rachel started, trying to distance herself with a little professionalism, since there was little chance at this point of doing so physically. He was so near that she was having to look up at him, her face tilted toward him ever so slightly. Before she even realized what was happening, he had dipped his head toward her, and a moment later her world spun as his lips made contact with her own.  
  
The kiss was not much more than just a simply brushing of lips, a gentle touch, and yet it left her breathless as she realized what was happening. Harm straightened up and looked at her, uncertain of her reaction. Rachel tried to make her voice work, but words failed her completely. Before she could organize her scrambled thoughts, however, his arms had encircled her and his lips descended on hers again.  
  
Harm's eyes took on a slightly mischievous gleam as he drew back, a smile  
  
twitching at the corners of his mouth.  
  
"Analyze that, Doc."  
  
Rachel shook herself back to reality, her coffee all but forgotten and turning cold in her hands. The memory was as strong as ever, the soft pressure of warm lips and the dizzying sensation of her pulse thundering in her ears. Harm's lightly spoken comment was almost a mandate now, daring her to probe beneath the surface of that day and unearth feelings she hadn't allowed herself to contemplate in almost a decade. There had been other days in the barn, other kisses, but it was that very first one that had been burned into her memory. Some might call that romantic, the memory of a first kiss, shy and tender. She wasn't sure what she'd call it.  
  
"Excess baggage." Rachel muttered as she turned to pour what was left of her coffee down the drain of the small service sink.  
  
"Excuse me?" Another voice asked, and Westlake spun back sharply, startled enough that she nearly dropped the mug. Admiral Chegwidden was just coming into the room. A faintly amused expression touched his features for a moment. "Talking to yourself, Doctor?"  
  
Rachel felt the beginnings of embarrassment flushing her face, and she drew in a deep breath, willing the scarlet to leave her face. To her surprise, Chegwidden chuckled. "Nothing unbalanced about that." He remarked shortly. "I do it all the time. Just don't let 'em catch you on the losing end of an argument."  
  
"Right. Sir."  
  
Chegwidden raised his eyebrows and folded his arms, a gesture that his people had come to recognize was a signal to explain themselves, and quickly. Rachel, unfamiliar with the Admiral's mannerisms, needed a little more prompting.  
  
"You seem a little distracted, Commander. Mind telling me what's got your attention that allowed you to let a two-star to sneak up on you? Even if I am a SeAL, nobody likes having a superior officer catch them with their hand in the cookie jar."  
  
"I..." Rachel cleared her throat. "It's a matter of doctor-patient confidentiality, Admiral. With all due respect, I'm afraid I can't discuss what's got my attention, sir." Technically that was true enough...Harm had been her patient at the time...  
  
Chegwidden's brows now came down into a momentary frown, and for a moment, Westlake thought he might press her further. But all he offered was a slight clearing of the throat and a perfunctory nod as he decided that a cup of coffee might not be a bad idea since he was already there.  
  
"I won't ask you to break the rules, Commander." The admiral gave her a  
  
knowing look. "But you might want to think twice about letting a two-star sneak up on you again."  
  
Rachel recognized the humor in Admiral Chegwidden's voice, and she allowed a small smile in return. A moment later, she was alone again, the coffee in her mug now quite cold and her thoughts not that much warmer.  
  
July 12th  
  
0810 Hours  
  
JAG Headquarters  
  
Falls Church, Virginia  
  
Harm set aside manila folders he'd intended to cram into his briefcase, moving to take the telephone receiver from the crook of his chin and listen intently to what the voice on the other end was telling him.  
  
From the moment Rachel had exited his office, he'd almost breathed a sigh  
  
of relief, but now his expression was taut once more, a frown of concentration puckering his brows.  
  
"Are you sure, Master Chief?" Harm interrupted the narrative on the other end, and his frown deepened as he was given an answer in the affirmative. Slowly he sat down, pushing his briefcase away from the edge of the desk. "I want to see you about this ASAP. I'll be there in a few hours; my first stop is to talk to you. Got it?"  
  
There was a few more moments' worth of conversation, with Harm mostly listening, the occasional "uh huh" punctuating the otherwise silent atmosphere of his office. In the middle of that, Rachel returned, carefully balancing two styrofoam cups of coffee. Another cup, she figured, wouldn't hurt. Harm silently waved her in, then signaled that she shut the door behind her. As quietly as she could, Rachel tapped the door closed with her foot. "All right, Master Chief." Harm wrapped up the discussion. "We'll talk later."  
  
"You look like you could use this." Rachel offered the cup that was in her right hand; Harm took it absently and set it on top of his now- closed briefcase. "What is it?" Recognizing Harm's attention was somewhere other than this office, she settled into a chair and waited for his answer.  
  
"New wrinkle."  
  
"You mean...something more new than what you wouldn't tell me about when we were running?" Rachel sipped at her coffee, her earlier discomfort in the admiral's presence having been replaced by a calmer exterior.  
  
"Mmm...yes. That was the Master Chief who's been tearing apart the insides of the lieutenant's F-18." Harm looked at her fully now, redirecting his attention to her curious gaze. "He says there's evidence of possible sabotage."  
  
There was a moment's pause, and in it, Rachel realized that Harm wasn't  
  
exactly pleased with this "new wrinkle."  
  
"Uhm...pardon me if I'm wrong here, but...shouldn't you be filing a motion to dismiss or doing whatever it is that lawyers do when their case starts going their way?" She leaned forward a little bit, watching his expression. "Aren't you supposed to be happy if it's sabotage? That means Lieutenant Rollins is innocent of the charges."  
  
"Maybe." Harm conceded. It was true enough that at least on the surface, this was very good news. He stood up and started gathering his things together, including the cup of coffee. "It also means that if it's true, there's still a saboteur aboard the America."  
  
EIGHT  
  
July 12  
  
0830 Hours  
  
JAG Headquarters  
  
Falls Church, Virginia  
  
Objection. Leading the witness.  
  
Sustained. Rephrase, Commander.  
  
Mac leaned back in her chair a moment, staring nowhere in particular; her mind's eye drawn to imagine the proceedings typed before her. She could just see it...a nervous Navy Lieutenant, neatly pressed uniform, sitting in the witness box, testifying to what could be the end of his naval career. A persuasive, smart lawyer directing questions, trying to trap the young pilot into giving up the one piece of testimony that would nail the coffin closed. The judge, waiting to signal either court-martial or dismissal, listening to the evidence being presented before him.  
  
Harmon Rabb, Jr. must have wondered when it was all going to be over with, and if he'd still have a place in the Navy when it was. The uncertainty of the future must have weighed heavily on him that day. From his words, it was no wonder why he took a ride up every time he got a chance now; Harm loved flying. Somehow...it was more than just the chance to follow in his father's footsteps. There was a sheer joy in it that Mac had somehow always overlooked.  
  
Bringing herself out of her thoughts, Mac returned to reading, absorbing Harm's testimony as her imagination attached his voice to it, hearing the inflection and the intent behind the words as if she had been sitting in the gallery that day.  
  
July 12th  
  
0915 Hours  
  
Offices of the CNI  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Becca Ryan shuffled through the folders she held in one arm, pulling out the one she wanted and putting it on top of the stack. Opening it, she rifled through the documents within as she walked back toward her office, her mind on exactly what it was supposed to be on-  
  
-Until she saw the light on in an office that wasn't supposed to be occupied.  
  
"What the hell are you doing here?" She demanded, her tone not exactly as harsh as the words themselves, allowing it to be not quite a rebuke. Blond curls shifted as a head came up in response, and Meg Austin offered a sheepish smile.  
  
"Sorry, ma'am." Meg pushed a curl behind her right ear as her CO entered the room. "I didn't have anything else to do, so I thought I'd come in here and see if I could catch up on some filing."  
  
"I gave you the time off to spend with Harm, Meg." Becca smiled. "What're you doing disobeying my orders?"  
  
"I...well..." Meg cleared her throat a little, shuffling papers that didn't really need moving.  
  
"Uh-oh." Ryan sat down; using the small space Meg had just cleared to place her own files temporarily. "What's up?"  
  
"Nothing. It's..." Meg sighed and waved her hand a bit. "It has to do with  
  
what we talked about last night."  
  
"Harm's crash?" Becca raised her eyebrows, trying to figure out just what a decade-old Tomcat crash had to do with Meg sitting here in her office with nothing really to do.  
  
"Yeah...kinda." Meg produced a photograph, the picture she had brought along with her today in order to do a little research. Becca picked it up from the desktop to look at it. "She was at Harm's apartment this morning."  
  
"Rachel Westlake. I remember her...she was Harm's shrink during the Article 32. I met her in Belleville that day I was there." Ryan looked at the picture a moment longer before handing it back, when the words suddenly registered with her. "Wait...she was at Harm's place?"  
  
"Uh huh. In his...um...shower."  
  
Becca's eyes widened a little bit; somehow she managed to bite back the few choice words that were on the tip of her tongue. Harm Rabb, she thought to herself, how you can be so smart and yet so stupid is beyond me.  
  
"What's she doing here?" She wondered out loud. Meg tapped her pen on the desktop.  
  
"I think she's the psychological counsel on the pilot error investigation Harm's working."  
  
I bet that's a bit awkward. Becca thought, but didn't voice aloud. I wonder who sprung her on him? Almost as if reading Becca's mind, Meg shook her head.  
  
"What?" Ryan asked, leaning back in the chair.  
  
"If I hadn't seen her there with my own eyes this morning, I don't think I'd have thought they were getting along too well from what Harm's told me of this case."  
  
"They probably aren't." Becca replied matter-of-factly. "What did he tell you?"  
  
"Harm?" Meg tapped with the pen again. "He said they'd been out jogging this morning."  
  
"Then that's what they were doing." Becca replied as if it was certain fact, and Meg's brows lifted in curiosity. "Trust me, Meg...there's no way that woman spent the night at his place."  
  
"Sounds like you're pretty sure of that." Austin couldn't quite suppress the smile that was beginning to tease her lips.  
  
"Hey... I told you, I've known that flyboy since he was eight. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about."  
  
"Okay." Meg drew in a deep breath, resolving to have a little more faith in Harm and a little less anxiety about their fledgling romance. "Speaking of which, you told me you had some good embarrassing stuff on him?"  
  
"Oh, yeah...more than enough to get him back for any practical joke he plays on me in our lifetime." Becca grinned wickedly. "Let's see...there was the time in high school when he nearly blew up his Mom's garage and the local fire company almost made him an honorary member."  
  
Meg laughed, motioning for Becca to tell the story. As Ryan launched into the tale, Meg reached over to her keyboard and tapped a few keys nonchalantly. On the monitor, the screen-saver disappeared and was just briefly replaced by an official picture of Rachel Westlake before the window was closed down.  
  
July 12th  
  
1145 Hours  
  
Patuxent Naval Air Station  
  
Patuxent River, Maryland  
  
"But you're not certain it was sabotage." Harm drilled the Master Chief. He had to be absolutely clear on this point; his entire defense might hang on the words the enlisted man was telling him. He received a short affirmative nod.  
  
"Not entirely, no. It's possible, but not probable in my opinion, that this could have happened on impact. But if you look here..."  
  
Rachel watched for a few moments, listening in as Harm split legal hairs with himself while the Master Chief made his point. For her own part, not having much working knowledge of fighter craft, couldn't even tell you what piece of equipment was being analyzed, let alone what might have been done to it.  
  
Inevitably her attention wandered, her gaze sweeping over the wreckage of  
  
Terrance Rollins' F-18 and then on out to the bright sunshine beyond Hangar 12. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw that Harm was still fully occupied with the Master Chief, and she headed outside. A few moments later she was standing in the warm July sunshine, blessedly not as humid as the past few days had been. She looked out over the expanse of tarmac and runways, one hand shielding her eyes from the glare as she watched a transport plane land. Ungainly looking craft though it was, the landing was as graceful and smooth as anything she'd ever seen. The thing reminded her of nothing so much as a flying whale. She continued to watch as the transport taxied down the runway, confidently guided by her pilot toward the tarmac at the far end.  
  
"Come on...you'll love it, I promise."  
  
Rachel looked dubiously at the small airplane in the hangar, and then at Harm. It was a biplane too, not the same as the Stearman he was restoring back in Belleville, but a craft that looked to have had more than a few air miles on it.  
  
"Uh huh. Is that before or after I lose my cookies?"  
  
Harm grinned, and it was infectious. Before she quite knew what was happening, he was helping her into the front cockpit and handing her a pair of goggles. Somehow she'd allowed him to talk her into taking her up, ostensibly to demonstrate part of his drive to restore the Stearman. She knew it ran much deeper than just his love of flying; their talks of late had centered a great deal on Harm's father, even more so than the Tomcat crash. But she had agreed to let him take her "barnstorming" as he called it, and despite her misgivings about the older craft, there was something exciting about the idea.  
  
He taxied the plane out onto the runway and called in their status; a few moments later they had the okay to take off, and a few more after that, they were airborne, climbing into the bright early summer sky, heading south. As the ground fell away beneath them, Rachel found herself holding her breath in anticipation. Sure, she'd been on airplanes before; airliners to cross the country and she'd hopped a ride on a helo more than once. But there was something...different somehow about the way this felt.  
  
Almost...dangerous, but thrilling. Harm heard her nervous chuckle and he  
  
laughed.  
  
"Is it great, or what?"  
  
To her surprise, Rachel found herself agreeing with him. It was great! Harm banked the plane a bit, taking them a little more west, and he called out, "Let's wring her out a little bit and see what she can do!" Just that quickly, the plane was in a corkscrew roll, and Rachel found herself screaming-with delight.  
  
"It's better than a rollercoaster!" She found herself yelling back at him.  
  
Rachel felt a touch at her elbow, and looked up to see Harm nudging her with his cover before putting it on.  
  
"Where were you?" He asked her lightly. "You certainly weren't in Pax River; I've only been talking to you for the last three minutes."  
  
"Oh...I... Sorry; I was back in Pennsylvania."  
  
Harm's expression remained neutral, but mentally he was backpedaling.  
  
"Too much time." He muttered, and Rachel frowned briefly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You're spending too much time in the past, Rach. Stop thinking this is about us, because it's not. It's about the guilt or innocence of our client. The Master Chief saysâ€""  
  
"Wait. Wait just a minute. You can't tell me that you haven't thought once about me in the past few days, about...everything." Rachel bristled; she knew very well that the past was the past...but she'd be damned if she would let him just brush her aside like this. Instantly, Harm opened his mouth to reply, but the sharp words that sprang so quickly to his mind died before they could be spoken, and he glanced away, his gaze drawn by the same transport Rachel had observed moments ago.  
  
The crew had disembarked, and a detail of Marines was unloading its cargo. The moment's hesitation passed, and when he looked back at her, his expression was frank.  
  
"No. No, I can't. I've thought about it. But that doesn't change the fact that we have a job to do here, Commander." Harm's tone gradually changed from personal to casual professionalism, and Rachel knew that this discussion was, for the moment, at an end. "Let's go talk to the lieutenant; I have a few new questions for him, and a little old ground to cover."  
  
  
  
July 12th  
  
1324 Hours  
  
JAG Headquarters  
  
Falls Church, Virginia  
  
The knock on the door almost startled her in the nearly silent room, and Mac looked up from the transcripts that now half-covered her desk to see Bud Roberts poking his head in.  
  
"Bud...come in." Mac swept aside the pages she'd been reading, making a semi-neat stack out of them before leaning back to watch the lieutenant j.g. enter the office.  
  
"Ma'am, I just got the discovery briefs on the Ishikawa court- martial. I thought you might want to take a look at them." Roberts proffered a manila folder thick with documents. Mac took one look at it and sighed, motioning to the already over-flowing 'in-basket' on her desk.  
  
Bud balanced the folder carefully at the top of the pile, taking care that it wasn't likely to fall over on its own. As he did so he gave a casual, but not very subtle, glance at the major's "reading material."  
  
"It was an unusual prosecution of the negligence charge." Mac began, deciding on the spur of the moment that satisfying the lieutenant's curiosity wouldn't get her into any more trouble with Harm than she was already likely to be in. "It was coupled with a charge of fraudulent enlistment. Prosecution charged that Harm's eye condition was pre-existing and recurrent, and was deliberately kept quiet prior to his commission."  
  
"It wasn't, was it?" Bud's expression puckered into a frown. "I mean, I can't see Commander Rabb lying about something like that."  
  
"Neither can I, Bud, but..."  
  
"But what?" The lieutenant sat down in the chair across from her. Mac pursed her lips into a tight line for a brief moment, then exhaled slowly.  
  
"The one thing that Harm wanted more than anything else in the world was to follow in his father's footsteps...make something of himself as a Tomcat pilot for Harmon Senior's memory. You know how obsessive the commander can beâ€""  
  
"Not at the expense of his integrity, Major." Bud defended solidly, and Mac smiled a little at the lieutenant's loyal sincerity.  
  
"The Harm we know now wouldn't...Harm the lawyer, the JAG officer. But what about Harm the young inexperienced Navy lieutenant?"  
  
Mac shook her head, sighing again. It was bad enough to be dredging up Harm's past without his knowledge. About the only thing worse was to entertain the notions she'd just suggested to Bud. What was up with that? "I'm sorry, Bud...forget I said anything."  
  
"Yes, ma'am." Roberts recognized the tone as a dismissal of sorts, and he rose from the chair.  
  
"I mean...really forget it, Lieutenant. We never had this conversation, understood?" Mac knew she probably didn't need to make it a formal order, but addressing him by rank put just enough of an official spin on her request that Bud would treat it accordingly.  
  
"Understood, ma'am."  
  
It didn't take long for the young lieutenant to make a quick exit... or is that getaway? Mac thought wryly. She picked up the next portion of the transcripts, and her eyebrows came up in a curious expression. This oughta be interesting.  
  
In her hands was the initial testimony of Rachel Westlake.  
  
July 12th  
  
1330 Hours  
  
Patuxent Naval Air Station  
  
Patuxent River, Maryland  
  
"Seems pretty convenient, don't you think, Lieutenant?" Harm asked, almost casually, but Rachel could sense the cautious edge beneath the words. Across the table from Harm and to her left, Lieutenant Rollins gave them both a brief, sharp glare but said nothing just yet. "I mean...no one knows where you are for seven hours, and within twenty-four hours, miraculous evidence for possible sabotage appears in the wreck of your bird. Pretty amazing coincidence, hmm?"  
  
"Just what are you accusing me of, Commander? Of fixing the evidence? I thought you said only the prosecution would do that...not my own lawyer!" Terrance snapped, his tone angry and bordering on the insubordinate.  
  
"Well, give me another explanation, then." Harm gave the edge of the table a pair of sharp raps with his pen. "Do you know anyone aboard the America that might hold a grudge against you or Lieutenant Woods, maybe want to see you screw the pooch or take a dive?"  
  
That question seemed to shake Rollins a bit. His jaw, so taut with suppressed anger a moment earlier was now almost a little slack and his gaze was directed not at Harm but at the far corner of the room. It was, Harm surmised, an idea that simply hadn't occurred to Rollins at all, a small point in favor of the idea that the pilot hadn't tampered with the F- 18.  
  
"Terry?" Rachel prodded after a moment. Rollins said nothing, didn't even look up in response to his name. Rachel gave Harm a disgusted look; unhappy with the pressure he was putting on his own client. "This could be a very important question. Is there anyone you know who would want to hurt you or your RIO? Terry?"  
  
There was another moment's pause before Rollins finally responded, and when he did, it was explosive. He jumped to his feet, fairly lunging across the table at Harm, but the commander was well out of his reach and even though he was furious, Rollins' wasn't quite committed to the roundhouse swing he took.  
  
"Lieutenant!" Harm shouted.  
  
"How dare you, Commander!" Rollins was yelling now. "How dare you come in here and accuse me...accuse my fellow shipmates of something like that! We're all good men on the America, sir. Good men! You come in here all spotless in your nice clean uniform with your nice clean JAG life, and you think you can judge me? You think you can judge me?"  
  
"Lieutenant Rollins, you will sit down or I'll have you dragged off to the brig for the rest of this investigation." Harm warned. Rachel had leapt to her feet, too, and she turned on Harm. Rollins was still shouting about being judged.  
  
"Take it easy, Harm!" She snapped. "He's your client, for heaven's sake. Cut him some slack."  
  
"Nobody sits down and judges you, do they, sir." Rollins spit out, but he finally sat down. Rachel drew in a deep breath as she watched him sit, something dawning in her eyes, and she turned back toward Harm again.  
  
"You mean, you haven't told him?" She asked pointedly. Harm's expression tightened.  
  
"Told him what?" Harm tried to sound off-hand about it, but her look in response told him in no uncertain terms not to even go there. "No." He finally admitted.  
  
What happened next, neither of them was really prepared for.  
  
In almost the same breath as Harm's "no," Rachel turned on Lieutenant Rollins, her hand pointing back at Rabb.  
  
"Commander Rabb went through an Article 32 hearing concerning the death of his RIO after a night-carrier crash landing." The aftershock of a concussion grenade couldn't have produced the same heavy silence that fell in the handful of heartbeats before she continued, "So you see, Terry...he can't judge you at all." It was another few moments before she quite dared turn around to look at Harm again.  
  
"Some things never change, do they, Commander?" was all he said, but although the words were quiet, they were spoken with a sharpness that belied the pain of a wound reopened. Rachel opened her mouth to reply, thought better of it and closed it again. "We'll finish this later."  
  
With that, Harm swept his things from the table and headed for the door without sparing a single glance back. Rachel knew that the only thing left for her to do was follow.  
  
July 12th  
  
1330 Hours  
  
Offices of the CNI  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Becca had been gone for several minutes, and Meg found herself ignoring the filing she was supposedly so behind on. She was not quite looking at the picture of Rachel Westlake; her eyes were a little unfocused as her thoughts carried her in different directions. The tidbit of information concerning Westlake's involvement in the events surrounding Harm's Tomcat crash shed much more light on things. It was no wonder that he was finding his current pilot-error case so difficult. It must be like getting slapped in the face with his past, she mused.  
  
The ring of the telephone nearly startled her to death in the absolute silence of her office. It took another two rings before her heart had slowed to a pace where she could actually pick up the receiver.  
  
"Lieutenant Austin."  
  
"Hello...Meg Austin?"  
  
"This is she." Meg answered. The voice on the other end sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn't quite put name and face together.  
  
"Lieutenant, this is Major Sarah MacKenzie; Harm's partner at JAG."  
  
Meg nodded to herself now. She had never been formally introduced to Harm's current legal partner, although they had bumped into each other briefly a few times since the Storey case almost two months back.  
  
"What can I help you with, Major?" Meg asked, setting aside the photograph in her hand.  
  
"I'm prosecuting the pilot-error Article 32 that he's defending, and I-"  
  
"I don't think I can help you, Major." Meg protested. Surely the major understood what an awkward position she was putting Meg in.  
  
"It's not about the case itself." Mac asserted, then paused a moment. "Well, not really, anyway. It's about Harm. About his own crash."  
  
Meg blinked a moment, taken a little by surprise. She realized suddenly that not only was Harm's past re-emerging like some nightmare specter, but it was affecting the way he was handling his investigation. Why else would his partner be telephoning her about it? Especially since Major MacKenzie was prosecuting.it was in her best lawyer's interest for Harm to be off his game.  
  
"What about it?" She asked, her tone a little more guarded than she'd intended.  
  
"Has Harm ever discussed it with you, told you anything about it?"  
  
"Not really, no." Meg admitted, and she could hear a disappointed sigh on the other end. "Although I've noticed that it seems to be on his mind a lot lately."  
  
"I figured...well, I guess I figured that since you probably know him better than anyone else..."  
  
Meg actually laughed at that.  
  
"Me? Oh, I think there's a couple people who know him much better than I do, Major."  
  
"Like his mom..." Mac's voice trailed off, as if thinking.  
  
"Actually, I wasn't thinking of her. I was thinking of the other Mrs. Rabb. Harm's grandmother in Pennsylvania."  
  
"Good idea, Lieutenant." Mac's voice brightened.  
  
"Yeah...Harm and I were supposed to go up there this weekend and visit her, but I guess he's all wrapped up in this case."  
  
"Why not go anyway?" Mac had now taken on the tone of someone inspired, and Meg cleared her throat a bit.  
  
"Um...because Harm already canceled the trip and I've never met his grandmother before. I wouldn't want to impose-"  
  
"I don't mean by yourself, Lieutenant. I think we should go together and talk with her. The best way for us to help Harm through this is to understand why it's driving him so hard."  
  
Meg chewed on her lower lip for a moment, considering Major MacKenzie's proposed plan. Harm had said he'd be at Pax River for the majority of the weekend, so it wasn't like he was going to notice her absence right away. And the major had a point. If this was troubling Harm this much, then she should do what she could to support him.  
  
"All right, Major. Call me a little later and we'll make plans. Here's my home number."  
  
July 12th  
  
1345 Hours  
  
Patuxent Naval Air Station  
  
Patuxent River, Maryland  
  
"Just what were you trying to prove in there?" Harm demanded sharply. They had not even taken ten steps from the building toward their parked cars. Rachel didn't answer right away, and Harm reached out to grab her arm, pulling her around to face him. "I asked you a question, Commander."  
  
"I could ask you the same question. You're supposed to be defending him, not ripping him to shreds." Rachel's tone was cool. "I thought you would be the best lawyer to represent the lieutenant, because you've walked a mile in his shoes." Her eyes burrowed into him. "Or have you gotten so comfortable with the fire that you don't feel the burn anymore?"  
  
"How dare you just show up out of the blue and judge me." Harm's own voice dropped several degrees; it seemed despite the hot July sun, the air between them had become very frosty indeed. He was painfully conscious of the fact that charge he'd just leveled on Rachel was the same one Rollins had given him. "Admiral Chegwidden made it very clear what he expects of me on this case, and I intend to give him what he expectsâ€"my best effort to defend Lieutenant Rollins. I can't do that if he's not telling me the truth."  
  
"He also made it very clear that he expects you to cooperate with me. And in my professional opinion, Commander Rabb, you are placing my patient under undue stress that is counterproductive to his therapy and recovery."  
  
Harm's eyes narrowed to sharp slits, hazel fire in his gaze.  
  
"So it's your 'professional opinion' that says further undermining the lieutenant's confidence in his attorney is going to help that?"  
  
"You were doing a pretty good job of that all by yourself, Commander. You didn't need my help for that." Rachel shot back before she could stop herself.  
  
"If you don't like my methods, Doctor, then perhaps you should approach the Admiral about assigning different counselâ€"like you should have done from the beginning."  
  
He spun away from her abruptly, leaving her standing in the middle of the sidewalk, an expression of amazement registering on her features.  
  
Undermining the lieutenant's confidence...  
  
"Oh, Harm." Rachel murmured to herself. "Is that what you really think happened in there?"  
  
She suppressed the urge to follow after him; knowing that just now he wouldn't listen to anything she had to say right at this moment. He was too angry, and she knew it wasn't entirely directed at her. He was still angry with himself, even after all this time, still guilty that he hadn't done something more to save Tony Mace's life. Rachel exhaled slowly, watching his retreating figure as he threaded his way through the parking lot towards his car. Still angry, she reflected silently, that I recommended his court-martial on the stand.  
  
NINE  
  
July 12th  
  
1503 Hours  
  
Meg Austin's Apartment  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Meg tossed a pair of socks into the duffel bag lying on her bed, packing a quick change in case she ended up in Pennsylvania overnight for whatever reason. Major MacKenzie had called her a little while ago, saying she was on her way from Falls Church to pick her up.  
  
Wonder if she told the Admiral anything about this. Meg thought idly as she rummaged around for another shirt. Probably not; there was a sort of... "sneaky" feeling about all this.  
  
A ripple of guilt traveled through her, and she paused, glancing out her bedroom window. She hadn't said anything to Becca about this, either, although she knew how Ryan basically considered Harm to be family.  
  
"I bet she'll know about it after it's done, though." Meg murmured to herself, knowing that Becca Ryan would probably be the first call Harm made. He'd want to know if Ryan had had anything to do with this little excursion to Belleville. Becca could handle herself, though...it wouldn't be the first time that she'd been on the receiving end of one of Harm's outbursts and most likely wouldn't be the last.  
  
The CD player, switched on practically moments after she'd arrived home, cycled through to the next disc. It was a new one; Savage Garden's "Affirmation." The upbeat sounds of the title track broke the momentary silence between discs; Meg found herself humming along as she found the shirt she'd wanted and packed it into the bag.  
  
Barely halfway into the song, a knock sounded at her door. Lead singer Darren Hayes' voice faded into a quieter level at the command of the stereo's volume control, as Meg moved to answer the door. On the other side, still dressed in her olives, was Major MacKenzie.  
  
"Ready to go?" Mac asked as Meg stepped aside to allow her entrance into the apartment.  
  
"Almost. Just throwing together a few things to take along." Meg closed the door behind the Marine and headed back toward the bedroom. "Would you like anything?"  
  
"No, thank you." Mac answered as she drifted a little further into the living area, glancing around curiously at the various pictures and knick-knacks that graced the place. She caught the sound of the CD, and a mild expression of surprise crossed her features. She hadn't figured Meg Austin to be much of a pop-music fan. Well... Mac reflected, just because I don't care for it doesn't mean someone else can't.  
  
With that observant sense drilled into her from her training and lawyer's experience, Mac noticed little things that gave some insight into the woman with whom she'd be sharing a car for the next several hours. Meg was neat without being compulsive, open and breezy without being unguarded, feminine without being overly frilly. Pictures scattered around the apartment told Mac that the lieutenant was close to family and enjoyed outdoor things like hiking and horseback riding. If her book selection revealed anything, it was that Meg enjoyed a smart read rather than fluff, although there were a couple books that might fall into the latter category. Mac found herself smiling a little; she had a couple of those books herself. Not that she'd ever admit it to anybody.  
  
"Okay, let's go." Meg was back, bag in hand, and Mac wondered a moment if she should have changed into something more comfortable. Meg was in jeans and a checked riding shirt; hair pinned back with a pair of barrettes, looking for all the world like she was taking a trip to the ranch. Well, she had a bag in her car already, with both a change of uniform and something more casual. She could always change later.  
  
Meg turned off everything around the apartment; Darren Hayes and Daniel Jones of Savage Garden got interrupted in the middle of "I Knew I Loved You" as the CD player was shut off. Swiping her keys from a nearby shelf, she followed Mac out the door and locked it behind her.  
  
Next stop: Belleville, Pennsylvania.  
  
July 12th  
  
2230 Hours  
  
Patuxent Naval Air Station BOQ  
  
Patuxent River, Maryland  
  
Harm sat back and rubbed his eyes absently; he'd been reading over discovery motions for the past hour, things that Mac had submitted to the defense for consideration. The silence of the room itself was almost total, although somewhere down the hall in the BOQ someone was raising a ruckus. Over what, Harm didn't know nor care to find out. Rather than make the trip back to D.C., he'd opted instead for a spot here so he could go at it first thing in the morning, following up on the sabotage angle. Either to include it into his defense or to dismiss it out of hand as non- viable.  
  
Then there was Rachel Westlake. She had made the return trip to D.C., presumably to allow him to stew in his own juices after the earlier disaster with Terrance Rollins. Perhaps not a very professional thing to do, but certainly justifiable enough, he realized with a sigh.  
  
"God..." Harm murmured into the empty air. Was it so hard to just leave the past, in the past? He'd accused Rachel earlier today of spending too much time in it. Perhaps the old adage of "takes one to know" was closer to the truth than he was willing to admit. Memories just tumbled out, unasked for, revealing the sorest places of his soul. Most of the time, he kept those places to himself. Lately he felt like they were being aired out for the whole world to look at and offer opinions on.  
  
And one thing Rachel Westlake wasn't shy about was offering opinions. It was what she was paid for, after all. Harm shook his head slightly. It had been that "professional opinion" that had nearly cost him his career all those years ago, and yet, somehow here she was, depending on that same career to help her patient. "There's irony for you." He mumbled into his coffee cup. There was, he decided, a piece of Fate that had a lousy sense of humor.  
  
Another cup of coffee and several pages of legal material later, Harm stifled a yawn and stood up to stretch. For a moment his eyes went unfocused as he leaned into the stretch, and then he let go of the yawn he'd tried to avoid. It left him standing there, staring into the dark, perhaps looking for the shadows of memories waiting to jump at him from the shadows of the room.  
  
Harm snapped himself out of the stare a few moments later, the tiny seed of an idea planted in his mind, but not one he was consciously ready to act on just yet.  
  
Harm stripped down to his shorts and got into bed with another yawn. Tomorrow would come soon enough, and as his grandmother had often said to him, "tomorrow will have it's own trouble, Harmon."  
  
Of that, he had no doubt whatsoever. His grandmother had always been a  
  
pretty smart woman.  
  
July 13th  
  
0620 Hours  
  
Sarah Rabb's Residence  
  
Belleville, Pennsylvania  
  
Sarah Rabb was well accustomed to the early-morning drill; between farm life as a young bride, then as a Navy wife and mother, the concept of "sleeping in" had become a foreign one. This morning was no exception; it saw her in the kitchen as the sun came up, preparing breakfast for herself and her guests.  
  
The two young women had come the previous evening, having pre- announced their visit some hours ahead by telephone. The visit was somewhat less than formal, somewhat more than casual and the conversation so far had reflected that. Sarah didn't really expect that to change at all, especially since the topic of discussion was her grandson and memories of the official proceedings against him nearly a decade earlier.  
  
But this morning there were pancakes and bacon, homemade bread for toast and the last jar of strawberry jam that had been prepared last fall. She made a mental note that an extra jar or two should be jarred this year to allow for company as she turned strips of bacon in the frying pan.  
  
"This was all operational once?"  
  
The voice behind her hadn't startled Sarah at all; the stairs had their own peculiar creaks and groans, evidence to the settling of the house and many years of young feet pounding up and down the steps. She had been well aware of her guest's approach long before she'd reached the kitchen.  
  
Sarah glanced back from the stove briefly to see Lieutenant Austin standing in the doorway, appraising the view of distant farm fields of the next neighbor over through the wide kitchen windows.  
  
"Yes, when Matthew and I first married, we inherited this place from his parents. They wanted to move into town, and Matthew was the only one of the boys who wanted to keep the farm running." Sarah waved the fork in her hand toward the view from the window. "Most of the land had to be sold off after he passed on; even that young I didn't think I could keep it running on my own. Matthew's parents were both gone by then, and no one else in the family had any objections. Couldn't stand to leave the house, though. This has been home since I was nineteen years old."  
  
"You were nineteen when you got married?" Meg asked absently, her gaze caught by an old-fashioned crystal sugar dish on the counter. It was original hand-cut glass, and had the look of an heirloom about it.  
  
"I was seventeen when we married." Sarah replied, an amused twinkle coming into her eyes. "We took over the farm two years later."  
  
"Seventeen?" Meg echoed wonderingly. "When I was seventeen, all I could think about was riding quarterhorses and getting ready to join the Navy. I think if my Dad had still been alive, he'd have been very happy at how non-interested I was in marriage."  
  
"Was?" Sarah Rabb's voice carried a light tone of teasing in it, and Meg found herself suddenly blushing deeply, somehow feeling all the more embarrassed for having been caught out by one of Harm's family members. A soft chuckle from the older woman, however, drew a smile from Meg easily. Already in just a few hours she could see why Harm adored his grandma so much.  
  
The heat was just beginning to leave her cheeks as Mac showed up a few paces behind her, dressed casually and running a hand through still- damp hair from the shower.  
  
"Good morning, Major." Meg greeted her, glad to shift attention from herself for a moment. A knowing smile from Sarah Rabb however, told Meg that the subject was only temporarily closed, and she found herself stifling a giggle.  
  
"Well, I expect you two want to know a few more details about Harmon's visit that summer." Sarah said without preamble. "Sit down for some breakfast and I'll try to tell you what you need to know."  
  
Meg and Mac traded a quick glance; Mrs. Rabb was not one to beat around the proverbial bush. Conversation over coffee was, to say the least, going to be interesting this morning.  
  
July 13th  
  
0630 Hours  
  
Somewhere between Patuxent  
  
River, MD and Washington, D.C.  
  
The dawning of the sun found Harm already well on his way back home from Pax River, having decided sometime in the middle of a restless night on a change of heart about how to proceed with his investigation. The seed of theory planted in his mind the night before had developed just enough to prompt him to pursue it; so he had packed his things and headed off to Washington before he could second-guess the wisdom of his decision.  
  
Or before anyone else could, either. Although Harm wasn't quite sure who that would be; Rachel was already back in D.C. and Terrance Rollins wasn't even aware that Harm had left the base.  
  
This early in the morning highway traffic was still light, and Harm found himself making good time back to Union Station, his only company the blare of the radio. Drive-time deejays were already chattering in their usual overly-cheerful morning way and he could do much worse than Top 40 tunes.  
  
So it was that he found his mind wandering a little bit as he drove, and his thoughts somehow ended up drifting back to Belleville despite what he'd told Rachel about dwelling in the past. It was like she had walked into his life out of the mists of a dream and brought along that entire summer with her. A single smile or nod of her head returned him to those days as if they had never really left them, and he wasn't sure which troubled him moreâ€" the memories themselves or sudden sense that Belleville was an unresolved matter for more than just Rachel.  
  
He passed the remains of an old farm, the shell of a dilapidated barn catching his eye for a brief moment as he drove by. He'd spent countless summer afternoons playing in his grandmother's barn as a young boy, dreaming away the days for the future yet to come. Then there had been that last summer on the farm...rebuilding the Stearman and trying to rebuild those same dreams.  
  
"Here you go."  
  
Harm looked up from the insides of the Stearman to see Rachel slipping into the barn with a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses. He smiled at her, and she returned it before he dropped his gaze momentarily, a small sense of guilt stealing over him. A moment later he felt her hand at the small of his back, and he glanced down at her. "What is it?" she prompted gently.  
  
"Nothing. I... Just doesn't feel right to be so...comfortable when I know that Tony's family..."  
  
"One of the hardest things to deal with when you lose someone is the fact that all around you, life just seems to go on. Even in your own life. It takes time, Harm. But don't feel guilty about finding something to be happy about. It's part of the healing process."  
  
Harm nodded after a moment. It didn't really change the way things were, but he recognized the nugget of truth in what Rachel said. He felt her hand move up his back a little bit, a comforting gesture, and he offered her another smile. Perhaps it wasn't as heartfelt as the first one had been, but it was enough to lighten the atmosphere between them. "Here. Have a glass." Rachel turned away to pour lemonade.  
  
He pulled his hands from the biplane's engine, and she tried unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh at the sight of him in grease practically up to his elbows. It had become a familiar look for him these days, laboring over the old plane like it was his very soul.  
  
"What's so funny?" He asked mock-seriously, and Rachel held his lemonade out to him.  
  
"You. You're a mess."  
  
Harm wasn't quite sure at first whether it was the urge to make her just as messy or if it was something else as she stood there all pristine in her clean shirt with her hair pinned neatly in a regulation bun. He took two steps toward her, taking the glass from her hand and deliberately placing it back on the small tray she'd brought it out on.  
  
She was beyond protesting now, beyond insisting that she had to be professional and objective. As he drew close, he noticed that she seemed to be holding her breath. The next moment he had gathered her into his arms, and his kiss stalled any complaints about oil on her shirt. When he finally raised his head to look at her, she slowly opened her eyes and looked back at him, asking without words if there was more.  
  
He didn't wait for her to ask with words.  
  
Afterwards he held her in his arms and they talked together about this dangerous road on which they were traveling, a road that led back to Norfolk and an uncertain future.  
  
"They've offered an administrative separation, Harm, if you want it." Rachel's blue eyes looked up at him, gauging his reaction to the news. He was silent for a very long moment, looking not at her but rather just over the top of her head, into the gathering darkness of the barn at dusk. "Will you take it?"  
  
Harm realized he'd just missed the exit for a roadside rest area and he grimaced slightly at his inattention. He'd be better off to take his own advice and leave the past alone, or there would be hell to pay...if not out of his pocket, so to speak, out of Lieutenant Rollins' pocket for sure.  
  
Which brought his mind squarely back to the matter at hand, the investigation itself. Good, Rabb...keep your head in the game. There would be another rest stop before D.C. There might not be another chance for Terrance Rollins.  
  
July 13th  
  
0630 Hours  
  
Lafayette Park  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Rachel had started out with every intention of running, some sort of perverse curse put on her by Harmon Rabb all those years ago. Halfway through the first mile, however, she simply quit. Her rebellion against the curse, she figured.  
  
Or maybe it was just rebellion against him. She was still a little angry with him for misleading Terry Rollins. Maybe even a little angry still that he had pushed her aside like that.  
  
Although, Rachel....you did ask for it, didn't you? You've been asking for it ever since the day you took the stand, and now he's finally letting you have it. Happy now?  
  
No. Not really.  
  
She continued to walk, abandoning the idea of jogging at all, allowing her mind to sift through the events of the previous day, and coming to the conclusion that it was probably wrong of her to have left him at Pax River the way she did. Perhaps even a little bit childish. But certainly not undeserved, in her opinion, even if she had pulled the rug out from under him a little bit with the lieutenant.  
  
What else was she supposed to do? She'd asked for him because she knew he was the right choice. What she hadn't asked for was to feel all the old memories, things she had locked away and supposedly forgotten in the past eight or nine years.  
  
Rachel stopped completely and looked up into the sky, already blue in the early morning sun, dotted with clouds. So what's with that, anyway? Are you saying you still feel something for him? No. No, that wasn't it either.  
  
"Maybe it's just because you know he's right, Rach." She murmured softly to herself. "Maybe it's about time you faced that." Suddenly she started to run againâ€"only this time in the direction of her car, parked on the near side of the park.  
  
It was time to figure out just what was going on in that man's head. Shouldn't be too hard, should it? After all, that is what I'm trained at.  
  
Somehow, there was still something in the back of her mind whispering, 'good luck...'  
  
July 13th  
  
1015 Hours  
  
North of Union Station  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Harm slowly stood and stretched, taking a break from the contents of the thick file that now covered most of his coffee table. The manila folder was draped face down over the arm-rest of the couch, looking for all the world like an oddly appointed dust cover. It had simply been shuffled out of the way so many times in the past hour that its current resting place was a forgiveable alternative.  
  
Harm rubbed at the back of his neck, regarding the stack of papers with a long sigh. He'd elected to pursue the slender threads of his current theory right here, despite his date-breaking excuse to Meg.  
  
Conducting his research here definitely had its advantages to showing up at Falls Church on a Saturday. Not the least of these were an entire pot of coffee to himself and the ability to scribble legal writ to the sounds of jazz at just the right volume. Which meant, of course, it was much too loud for him to hear the knock at his door. In fact, the knock turned into a loud kick against the doorjamb before Harm realized that anyone was there, and he hurried to answer it.  
  
"Sorry; I don't usually get company on a Saturday mornâ€"" Harm began, but the apology died on his tongue as he swung the door open and saw Rachel standing there.  
  
"Well, you don't usually abandon your clients on Friday night." Rachel replied tartly, gazing at him steadily. "Or any other time, from what I understand."  
  
"Really? For a shrink, you don't seem to understand much." Harm shot back sourly, standing aside to allow Rachel entrance. He could've closed the door in her face; god knew he wanted to. But she was just stubborn enough, Harm knew, to persist until he let her in anyway.  
  
So much for making any peace. Rachel thought absently.  
  
"Does everything have to be a battle with us when we talk?"  
  
"Only almost always." Harm glanced over his shoulder at Rachel as she closed the door behind her, but he was already into the kitchen for more coffee. "What do you want, Rachel?"  
  
"What I want, Commanderâ€"" Westlake settled herself on the couch, ignoring the paperwork strewn across the table in front of her. "â€"is to know what's going on here."  
  
Harm looked at her over the rim of his mug as he swallowed a mouthful of coffee, then put the mug down in an unhurried motion.  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"Really? For a lawyer, you don't seem to lie much."  
  
Harm raised an eyebrow sardonically and Rachel just shrugged in reply.  
  
"Touche." He lifted his mug in mock salute. Wandering from behind the counter, he waved a hand in her direction, drawing her attention at last to the coffee table. "What's going on, Commander, is research."  
  
Rachel picked up the manila folder from the arm rest, looking at the tab curiously. Blonde bangs slid aside as she snapped her head up and fixed Rabb with a surprised stare.  
  
"Lieutenant Rollins' personnel file?"  
  
"Well, it's not my taxes." Harm quipped. "You used the word 'abandon,' not me." He motioned her over and sat down on the couch, picking up the next report to be read, one of Rollins' fitreps. Rachel moved over reluctantly, her surprise at Harm's sudden burst of enthusiasm temporarily overriding any concerns.  
  
"Touche." She finally rose and walked nonchalantly toward the kitchen. "Got any more of that coffee?"  
  
July 13th  
  
1035 Hours  
  
Sarah Rabb's Residence  
  
Belleville, Pennsylvania  
  
"Would you like another cup, Major MacKenzie?"  
  
Sarah Rabb held the coffee pot poised just inches from Mac's cup, and the gracious gesture was not refused. Across the table from the Major, Meg was skimming through portions of the Article 32 file while the three of them sipped coffee and talked.  
  
"Thank you." Mac stirred a little sugar into the cup, allowing her gaze to roam around the homey little kitchen much as Meg had earlier on. Blue-trimmed, white linen curtains hung in the windows, accenting the cheery blue wallpaper that adorned the walls. The far side of the room boasted an old-fashioned baker's rack of oak and wrought iron, next to a stove and refrigerator of more modern design.  
  
The baker's rack, it turned out, was antique, having belonged to successive generations of Rabb women, passed down from mother-in-law to daughter-in-law. Mac had been amused, and Meg slightly embarrassed, to hear the tale of how the rack had skipped a generation and that it was being held for "whoever marries my Harmon one day."  
  
"He was actually offered an administrative separation?" Meg looked up from the file just as Mrs. Rabb topped off her coffee. "Thanks." Harm's grandmother gave the blonde lieutenant a small nod before putting aside the now-empty carafe.  
  
"It was recommended to the panel, according to the young lieutenant." 'The young lieutenant,' Meg and Mac had come to understand, referred to the then-lieutenant Rachel Westlake. "Of course, it didn't hurt the recommendation any that Harmon's stepfather had a few golfing buddies in the Navy who could throw more around than just their nine-irons." Sarah Rabb sat down and sipped at her own coffee. "There's no doubt that's one of the biggest reasons why Harmon turned it down; he's always been very independent from his stepdad."  
  
"One of them?" Meg leaned on the table, carefully cradling her cup of coffee in her hands. "There was something else?"  
  
"Mmmhmm. What really changed his mind was Sarah." Mrs. Rabb chuckled airily when the two younger women looked up at her. "Oh, no, I don't mean me. Once he discovered that old biplane out there, he spent nearly every day in that barn until he had to go back to Norfolk...putting her back together."  
  
"Harm still maintains her at an airfield near Leesburg." Mac commented, swirling around what was left of her coffee thoughtfully.  
  
"He flies her up here almost every summer to cut my winter firewood." Sarah confirmed cheerfully. "It's still nice to see her in the air. The point is, it gave him something to do with himself. Nothing like a little hard work to focus your mind. All that time spent working on Sarah helped to remind Harmon about what was really important in his life."  
  
"Like why he joined the Navy in the first place?" Meg suggested lightly. Sarah Rabb nodded.  
  
"Harmon has always believed on building his life on family tradition. He barely knew his father and never met his grandfather, my Matthew. But I tell you the truth, my grandson has managed to bring together the best qualities of both of them...in the only life he's ever really wanted, the Navy. The crash made him lose sight of that for awhile, but Sarah taught him to believe in himself again."  
  
"Now if he could just believe in his defense..." Mac trailed off as she set aside her cup. Meg sat up a little straighter, closing the file.  
  
"That's not the problem. Or at least, not all of it." She nudged the file toward the major. "He knows his duty; even if Harm feels differently, he'll defend a client to the best of his ability. There's got to be something more, something that we're missing here."  
  
Sarah exhaled softly, looking from one woman to the other, her blue eyes conveying knowledge in that way only a womanâ€"only a grandmotherâ€"can.  
  
"I think," she said slowly, reluctant to part with what she knew. "I may be able to help you with some of that, Lieutenant Austin."  
  
July 13th  
  
1201 Hours  
  
North of Union Station  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
A pot and a half of coffee later, Harm was once again in sole possession of the couch, Rachel finally having left him in peace. The jazz had long been abandoned for some quiet to go along with that peace, and the search through Rollins' file was being accompanied by lunch.  
  
The phone rang, sounding almost unnaturally loud in the silence. Harm brushed crumbs from the coffee table and dropped the handful of fitreps in their place before scrambling to answer it.  
  
"Rabb." Harm tucked the cordless beneath his chin, picked up his plate and mug, and put them in the kitchen sink.  
  
"Oh, good, you're home." Bud Roberts' voice sounded in his ear, the words a relieved rush. "It's Bud Roberts, sir."  
  
"No kidding." Harm deadpanned, but a sharp crackle drowned him out, telling him that Roberts was calling from a cheap payphone or had a bad cell connection.  
  
"What was that, sir?" Bud's voice faded in and out. Then, almost as if he'd pieced together what Harm had said, he went on, "No, sir, I'm not kidding...it's really me."  
  
"Never mind, Bud. What's going on?"  
  
"I can't talk long; my cellphone battery is almost dead, sir. I was just calling to tell you that Lieutenant Woodsâ€""  
  
Bud's cellphone quit mid-sentence, and Harm shook his head with a small sigh. Bud had proven to be a very good legal mind; Harm had no doubt that the young lieutenant would make an excellent attorney. However, there were times when his aide could use a large infusion of common sense. Like now.  
  
Placing the phone on the counter, Harm leaned next to it, awaiting the call that would undoubtedly come the moment Roberts located a payphone.  
  
He didn't have to wait long.  
  
"Hi, Bud. What's this about Lieutenant Woods?"  
  
"I'm sorry, sir. I thought I'd recharged the battery last night, only I think Harriet might have tripped over the cord in the dark and unpluggedâ€""  
  
"Harriet, in the dark?" Harm's voice took on a mildly teasing tone.  
  
"Yes, sir. I mean, no sir. We were just...uh..." Bud stammered, flustered at the conversation's sudden change of focus. "It was an experiment, something that Harriet read in a magazineâ€""  
  
"I don't think I need the particulars, Lieutenant." Harm smothered a laugh. "Tell me about Woods."  
  
"Oh, yes sir." Bud seemed to recover the original urgency of his mission. "I just received word that he's asking to see you. The doctors have agreed to let us in for five or ten minutes at your convenience."  
  
Harm straightened away from the counter, switching the phone from one hand to the other, intrigued by the proposed interview.  
  
"Does Mac know about this yet?" He wanted to know. Bud answered in the negative. "Good. Let's keep it that way. Where are you?"  
  
"Already at Bethesda, sir. I figured you'd want to come down right away."  
  
A flash of common sense. Harm grinned to himself. Bud did have his moments.  
  
"You figured exactly right, Lieutenant. I'm on my way."  
  
July 13th  
  
1330 Hours  
  
Sarah Rabb's Residence  
  
Belleville, Pennsylvania  
  
The smell of home-baked bread filled the kitchen, a scent that Meg remembered well from weekends as a child in Texas. "Mom Austin," as the hired hands often called her mother, used to bake enough bread each Saturday for each of their families to have some.  
  
Mac, on the other hand, was completely unfamiliar with the art of "punching down" bread dough. But before she knew it, she'd been recruited to help, and found herself forearm deep in the doughy mass placed before her.  
  
Somehow Mrs. Rabb had talked them into helping her with this ambitious projectâ€"two dozen loaves for a charity bake saleâ€"and Meg was beginning to see where Harm had gotten some of his persuasive charm from. The three women worked well together, the stiffness of formality falling away amidst the flour and heavenly aroma of the baking bread.  
  
She didn't know about Mac, but Meg was fairly certain that the bread dough was a distraction; a "pause button" of sorts until Sarah was ready to resume the discussion. For her own part, Meg was perfectly content to wait, recognizing her grandson's strategic mannerism in her action.  
  
Mac, on the other hand, was trying to balance her Marine's discipline with her impatience to move ahead with their little inquiry. Her family life having been what it was, she wasn't exactly the domestic type, and kneading bread dough, while not entirely unpleasant, wasn't quite what she'd had in mind for this journey to Pennsylvania.  
  
Sarah was spending her time subtly observing the two young women while they worked, taking in their rather diverse personalities. Both carried the professional demeanors acquired in pursuit of their legal and military careers. However, they were about as different as night and day, and Sarah wanted to be sure of whom she was speaking to about the most difficult time in her grandson's life. It was one thing to discuss the Article 32 itself; it was quite another to discuss the more...personal aspect of the ordeal.  
  
But as she pulled another set of breadpans from the oven, releasing another wave of the wonderful scent into the air, she decided rightly that she could trust them as friends truly concerned for the welfare of her Harmon. Clearing her throat lightly, she asked if anyone wanted any iced tea. Major MacKenzie declined, but Lieutenant Austin accepted cheerily, and Sarah moved to the refrigerator.  
  
"He was in love with her, you know." Mrs. Rabb finally said matter-of- factly. "At least, he thought he was. And she seemed pretty fond of him, too. But when she took the stand against him, that nearly cost him everything."  
  
"Harm and Commander Westlake were lovers?" Mac raised her eyebrows curiously, but Meg only nodded. She'd suspected something of this nature was involved from reading Harm's journal, from the run-in with Westlake earlier in the week. But Becca's reassurances about Harm's intentions were still in her mind, and she knew that what was being discussed here was definitely the past.  
  
"Yes. For awhile, it looked like it might be pretty serious, too. Until the hearing. After she betrayed him like that, that very night he made her go back to Washington. We stayed in touch for awhile; but then she was posted in so many different places that we lost track of each other. I didn't realize she was back in D.C."  
  
"Well, she's not. Not really, anyway." Mac volunteered. "After this assignment, she's returning to Pensacola, where she's normally stationed. I'm not sure exactly why she's on this case."  
  
"All I know is that she requested Harm personally to defend her patient." Meg put in. "Well, that's one detail that gives us a little perspective."  
  
"Maybe he's trying to keep her from railroading this client, too."  
  
"Maybe." Meg conceded, working her fingers through the dough in front of her, kneading it slowly and deliberately. "Why would she testify against Harm if she loved him?" The thought was spoken as it came, almost like a rhetorical question, an exercise in logic.  
  
"If she was trying to cover something, that might give her a motive to lie on the stand." Mac mused aloud, even though it sounded farfetched to her. Why would Rachel take the stand and sacrifice Harm's trust like that?  
  
"I've often wondered about the same thing myself." Sarah handed Meg her glass of iced tea, having almost forgotten about offering it in the course of conversation. "I've never been able to come up with a satisfactory answer."  
  
Meg took the glass carefully. "Sounds to me, ma'am, like that's the question of the day."  
  
TEN  
  
July 13th  
  
1445 Hours  
  
Bethesda Naval Hospital  
  
Bethesda, Maryland  
  
Harm waited patientlyâ€"or at least what he thought passed as patientlyâ€"in the small cubbyhole of a waiting room on the ICU ward. Bud was much more the model "wait-er," sitting quietly on the corner sofa, turning pages of six-month old magazines.  
  
"Sir..." Bud peeked up over the edge of the beaten cover of an old 'People' magazine. "It might be awhile."  
  
Almost immediately upon his arrival on the ICU floor, Harm had been jostled aside by a team of doctors and nurses rushing past in response to a code blue on the far end of the patient areaâ€"the precise area where Lieutenant Woods was located. He'd been able to ascertain from the lone person at the nurses' station that the alert was for the patient next to Woods and not the RIO himself.  
  
However, that meant that his interview with the injured lieutenant would have to wait until he was cleared to enter the ward itself. And while the doctors and nurses labored over their critical patient, Harm found himself struggling to keep his focus, and that made him fidgety, impatient.  
  
He'd come here intent on finding a way out of this mess; whether it was more for his client or himself, he wasn't exactly sure. But he was certain he would begin to find his answers here, with Lieutenant Rollins' RIO. Harm glanced up; found Bud Roberts still watching him curiously over the edge of the magazine.  
  
"What?"  
  
Bud suddenly came to life, putting aside the magazine and getting to his own feet.  
  
"Uhm...I didn't...would you like some coffee, Commander?" It was as good an excuse as any to get out of the cramped room, let the commander have a few minutes to breathe.  
  
"Sure, Bud...that'd be good." Harm agreed, and watched the lieutenant beat a retreat for the coffee coin machine down the hall. It would be lousy coffee, but at least would be something to do until they could talk to Woods.  
  
Alone now in the small room, Harm drifted casually over by the window. His attention was caught by the sight and sounds of a chopper coming in, a medivac unit that had been diverted to Bethesda from a civilian hospital. Must have been some major accident that had overloaded a local ER someplace.  
  
As he watched the chopper come closer, his thoughts ran along the lines of what he knew so far concerning Lieutenant Terrance Rollins and the circumstances of the crash. There were three or four...missing minutes from Rollins' short-term memory, critical minutes just prior to the crash itself. Rollins and Woods were not the original team slated for the mission to begin with, and all protests aside, could possibly have been impaired by alcohol prior to going up.  
  
Those three or four minutes...and the circumstances of their shore- leave...were things Harm hoped he could glean from Lieutenant Woods. At least his recollections would give him a base of something to work with, and if testimony was good, maybe even provide him with a sympathetic witness before Mac could try to draw him for the prosecution.  
  
Then there was the matter of Rollins' mysterious summons to Hangar Twelve, and the gap of time between the lieutenant's UA and the supposed meeting. The question of sabotage versus evidence-tampering was still on the table, with no clear answer just yet. The fact that the lieutenant claimed to have been totally alone in the hangar the entire time didn't exactly shed a favorable light on it, either.  
  
The chopper was out of sight now, hovering somewhere above as it approached the rooftop helipad, but the beating of the rotors was enough to vibrate the glass in the windowpane, where Harm's fingers rested on the sill. It was like the answers he sought; he knew they were there, could feel their existence, but couldn't actually see them for himself.  
  
He turned away from the window in time to see a woman in a white medical coat just stepping into the room. In her hand was a small styrofoam cup, which she held out to him with a smile.  
  
Harm hesitantly reached for the cup, a puzzled expression crossing his features. The woman's smile broadened, as though the confusion had been anticipated.  
  
"The lieutenant said you were waiting for that. I took the liberty of replacing the original contents with some real coffee from the staff lounge."  
  
Harm took a tentative sip of the steaming liquid, discovering to his pleasant surprise that the "real coffee" was indeed good.  
  
"Thank you." He held out his free hand. "Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb." The woman's grip was firm and steady; Harm imagined such rock- steady hands were born for surgery.  
  
"Lieutenant Marla Harris. I've also come to tell you that you can speak to Lieutenant Woods now. I'm his attending, and I suggest that you keep your interview brief, Commander. Say...limit yourself to the standard ten minute ICU visit."  
  
"The lieutenant's condition is that critical?" Harm wanted to know. "I mean...I'm surprised you're letting me in at all."  
  
"I am because Lieutenant Woods specifically requested to see you, Commander. Or at least...requested to speak to his pilot's defense attorney. I had to do a little digging around to find out what JAG was doing with that."  
  
"Understood. Lieutenant Rollins hasn't exactly...had a very stable relationship with his attorneys."  
  
"Until now?" Dr. Harris raised an eyebrow curiously, and Harm stifled a chuckle.  
  
"More like...especially not now." Harm swallowed more of the coffee, certain that he would not be allowed to carry it into the ICU. "At any rate...I appreciate the gesture of goodwill."  
  
Now it was Marla Harris' turn to stifle a laugh, and she motioned for him to follow her into the hallway.  
  
"I'm not the enemy, Commander. I like a good lawyer joke as much as the next person." She paused just outside the door of the ICU, and gave him a final admonition to be brief. Harm nodded, and put his hand on the door. On the other side he was about to take a trip into the head of one terrified RIO.  
  
It was a journey he had already taken once, in the panicked seconds before finding himself ejected from the cockpit, unable to save his fighter...or the RIO whose panic had punched them out...  
  
Shaking those thoughts off, Harm pushed gently on the door and slipped inside, the pursuit of truth more important now than a pursuit of the past.  
  
July 13th  
  
1622 Hours  
  
Somewhere between Belleville, Pennsylvania  
  
and Washington, D.C.  
  
Meg took her turn at the wheel while Mac napped in the passenger seat. The drive was pleasant enough, but twice within forty-eight hours was a bit much. Still, Meg didn't mind; it gave her time to think through their visit to Sarah Rabb.  
  
There was more to Harm's struggle with this case than just dealing with the echoes of his past. There was...Rachel Westlake. She was, quite simply, an unresolved issue for him. Not so much in the romantic sense as... well, more like a chapter to a book that had never been finished. An old wound that had never quite closed.  
  
That wound was hampering him now, getting in the way of trying this case. She felt almost instinctively that it would be up to her and Major MacKenzie to snap him out of it, to help him close the door on that part of his life. It was going to be...well, an interesting conversation, to say the least. Whether or not it would be a productive one remained to be seen.  
  
Mac stirred slightly in the seat next to her, and she snapped her eyes open after the fashion of the Marine trained by an effective drill sergeant. Wakefulness, it seemed, was not usually a problem for most military personnel after boot camp.  
  
"Want me to take over?" She queried, looking over at Meg. Austin smiled and shook her head.  
  
"No, that's all right. What did you think of Mrs. Rabb?"  
  
"She's incredible. No wonder Harm adores her." Mac shifted a little and stretched the best she could in the confined space of the car. "I see where he gets his smarts from."  
  
"Uh huh." Meg nodded absently as she negotiated a curve in the highway, passing a tractor-trailer on the way. "I thought she was particularly straightforward. I think that's where Harm gets that from, too." She pulled back into the right-hand lane and decelerated a little. A ticket wouldn't exactly put the perfect touches on this trip. "Well, one thing's for sure."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Rachel Westlake testified against Harm because she thought it was the best thing for her to do."  
  
Mac's jaw nearly dropped as the words sank in.  
  
"The best thing she could...what do you mean?"  
  
Meg stifled a small laugh; Jarheads could be such...thick-heads. It was right there in front of them both, and they hadn't seen it during their discussion with Sarah Rabb. Hadn't seen it at all.  
  
"She wasn't out to destroy him. She was out to marry him."  
  
July 13th  
  
1930 Hours  
  
Local Airfield  
  
Near Leesburg, Virginia  
  
It was later than he'd usually show up here to tinker with Sarah, but Harm had been restless after his brief discussion with Lieutenant Woods. He wasn't quite sure what had possessed him to drive clear from Bethesda to the hangar where he maintained her, but as he worked the engine, up to his elbows in grime, it seemed well worth it.  
  
At least it was giving him a chance to think without interruption.  
  
Taking a step back, he looked the biplane over, a sharp gaze giving the Stearman an affectionate inspection. His eye spotted an abnormality; he leaned down to peer at a spot where it looked like a dab of fresh yellow paint was needed. His hand was just passing over the spot when a ragged clicking caught his ear.  
  
It was the sound of a woman's heels on pavement...and it wasn't a welcome one. Slowly he straightened away from the body of the biplane, not even bothering to turn around. Rachel, he was sure, would announce her own presence without any prompting from him.  
  
"In your rush to get away from it all, you seem to have forgotten something, Mr. Rabb." Her voice was light, even friendly; Harm raised an eyebrow, a reaction kept to himself as his back was still to her.  
  
"Isn't that..." Harm grunted as he reached back into the engine, reaching for a dropped bolt, "...the idea of getting away from it all? To forget things?"  
  
Was that actually a chuckle he heard? Unbelievable.  
  
"Well, I'm sure you don't want to forget about this."  
  
Harm waited a beat, a calculated pause, his fingers snagging the loose bolt in the moment before turning to look at her. Standing just to her right, leaning hard on his cane, was Lieutenant Rollins.  
  
"How did youâ€""  
  
"I got a waiver remanding him into my custody for specialized psychological services." Rachel explained airily, and Harm's expression settled momentarily into an unhappy frown. He didn't need to ask whose favor it was that granted her the waiver.  
  
Admiral Chegwidden.  
  
As he was considering that uncomfortable turn of events, Rachel stepped up to him quickly, her hand clasping his forearm firmly, heedless of the engine oil.  
  
"What theâ€""  
  
"Look, Harm...I know that my being here has messed with the fine grains in your little sandbox. But at least give him a chance. Just talk to him, Harm." Her blue eyes looked up at him, intense and purposeful. "We can't change the past. But we can...change his future."  
  
Harm looked past Rachel, over to where Rollins was standing, directing an admiring gaze at the Stearman. His frown deepening momentarily, he turned his gaze back down to the woman standing in front of him. She hadn't moved an inch, still holding his forearm, keeping him in her eyes. Abruptly, he nodded his consent, and she squeezed his arm briefly. "Forget for awhile that he's your client. Talk to him like a human being."  
  
Releasing his arm, she turned and started from the hangar, her footsteps echoing her departure in the near silence. Finally Harm found his voice and called after her,  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
"Oh, I'll be around. I think I want some coffee. I'll be back in a couple of hours." Rachel waved her hand nonchalantly as she spoke, and then she was gone.  
  
She'd better have a waiver. He thought to himself briefly. Or it's my ass.  
  
July 13th  
  
1930 Hours  
  
Meg Austin's Apartment  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Meg sat down on the couch and tucked her feet up, intent on spending a little quality time with the pages of John Grisham to unwind from the long trip. After having been dropped off here by Major MacKenzie, her first thought had been to call Harm, but his answering machine had derailed that idea. So instead, she'd taken a long hot shower and fixed a late supper. Wherever he was at the moment, Harm Rabb would keep until the morning.  
  
Three and a half pages later, her reading "date" was interrupted by the doorbell. Frowning slightly in annoyed curiosity, she put aside the book and got up to answer the door, pushing aside locks of blonde hair and sighing impatiently.  
  
On the other side of the door was Admiral Chegwidden, standing there looking patiently expectant, and Meg tried to swallow her annoyance and her surprise all in one gulp.  
  
"Admiral Chegwidden." She greeted, noting that the surprise hadn't left her voice as it had her expression.  
  
"May I come in, Lieutenant?" Chegwidden asked cordially, and Meg stood aside to allow him entrance into her apartment. As she closed the door behind him, Meg noticed the Admiral's SeAL training kicking in by force of habit; his sharp eyes taking in his surroundings in a sweeping gaze. Most likely there were small details of her living quarters that she was unaware of that would now be impressed into his memory of her for quite some time.  
  
"Can I get you anything, sir?" Meg drifted back into her living room, a step just behind the Admiral as he took a few paces further in.  
  
"No, that's fine." Chegwidden drew in a measured breath, then glanced at the blonde woman standing to his left. "I understand you took a day trip up north recently, Lieutenant." He prefaced his query with fact that he was already aware of some of the details of the journey to Pennsylvania. "Major MacKenzie says you might have a theory on why Commander Rabb is dragging his feet on this investigation."  
  
Meg had all she could do not to drop her jaw in surprise. That this case was troubling to Harm was not exactly privileged information, and neither was it a shock to her that the admiral was taking a personal interest in the progress of his senior attorney. What was surprising to her was that the Admiral had driven clear over here to discuss it with her, someone who wasn't even under his command any longer.  
  
"Sir?" She managed to get out, and a somewhat amused expression crossed Chegwidden's features.  
  
"Lieutenant Austin," He motioned toward the couch, and Meg sat down at his bidding. He took a seat in the nearby chair and continued, hands resting lightly on his knees. "It's no great secret that you and Commander Rabb are finally pursuing your...affection for each other."  
  
Meg had to smile slightly at the admiral's attempt at tact.  
  
"Finally, Sir?"  
  
"Didn't you think I had eyes in my head while you were at JAG, Lieutenant?"  
  
Now Meg found herself trying not to blush. She had invited the comment, certainly, but as always the Admiral's candor still had a way of taking...his targets by surprise. She was even more surprised when he dropped his gaze, chuckling softly. When he looked back up, however, he was all business once more, and Meg waited expectantly.  
  
"I'm not looking for the fine details, Lieutenant. Those are best kept between yourself and Major MacKenzie. What I am looking for is your best estimate of the situation." Chegwidden shifted a little in the chair, but he held Meg's attention with his eyes, his expression frank. "I want to know if you think the commander has jeopardized this case."  
  
"Sir, Iâ€"" Meg started, then stopped. She cleared her throat lightly before continuing. "Admiral, I don't think I'm qualified to answer that...Harm's not my partner any more and I can't see what he's doing to this investigationâ€""  
  
Chegwidden held up a hand, effectively silencing her.  
  
"Do you think that Commander Rabb has jeopardized this case?"  
  
Meg dropped her gaze a moment, contemplating the Admiral's question. Certainly she was concerned about Harm; his past was weighing heavily on his mind and nothing about this investigation was making it any easier for him to put it back on the shelf where it belonged. But at the same time...  
  
She looked back up at the Admiral, and her expression was nothing but sincere. "No sir. I do not. Harm will handle it, Admiral."  
  
Admiral Chegwidden held her gaze for a few more moments, his expression thoughtful. At length, however, he rose and nodded to her.  
  
"Thank you for your opinion, Lieutenant." He acknowledged her answer with an easy air of authority. "I hope for his sake that you're right."  
  
Meg followed him to the door, closing it behind him as he left.  
  
"Me too, Sir." She murmured to herself.  
  
ELEVEN  
  
July 13th  
  
1940 Hours  
  
Local Airfield  
  
Near Leesburg, Virginia  
  
The first few minutes were spent in uncomfortable silence; Rachel's admonition to Harm to talk to Rollins like a human being was still chafing at him and it seemed to him that the lieutenant wasn't any happier with the arrangement than he was. In the end, it was Sarah that broke the ice. Rollins had limped slowly closer to the biplane, his eyes taking in the fine details.  
  
"She's a beaut." He said admiringly, reaching up to place a hand against the yellow metal. Harm nodded.  
  
"Took me awhile to restore her; I started work on her during a summer leave...and then I was at the mercy of whatever leave time I could scrounge up after that and holidays." Harm wiped his hands absently on a grease cloth and turned to face the lieutenant.  
  
"Before they took your wings, or after?" Terry wanted to know. Harm drew in a slow, measured breath.  
  
"After, actually." He answered quietly. Rollins nodded acknowledgement.  
  
"Do you take 'er up, or is she just a showpiece?"  
  
"I log a bit of time in her." Harm grinned in spite of himself. "In fact, I'm flying up to Pennsylvania one of these weekends soon."  
  
"Must be nice, Commander...to take a stick and not feel the hair on the back of your neck stand on end." Rollins tone was bitter, and so were his eyes. Harm paused, thoughtfully regarding the grounded pilot. Suddenly, "talking to him like a human being" didn't seem to be such a big obstacle.  
  
"Every time I go up..." Harm's expression softened as well as his voice, and the shift in demeanor caught the lieutenant's attention. "I take this with me." He reached into his pocket and tossed something at Rollins; the other man had to react quickly to catch it.  
  
Terry opened up his hand and looked down into it. Lying on his open palm was a red silken ribbon. The edges were frayed and the color had faded. Pinned to it was the collar insignia of a Lieutenant j.g. Terry turned a puzzled gaze on his attorney.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"It belonged to my RIO, Lieutenant j.g. Mace." Harm explained quietly. "His mother gave it to me at his funeral...said she forgave me..." He looked away. "I never leave the ground without it in my pocket."  
  
"Who says pilots are superstitious?" Terry turned a sorrowful half- smile to the lieutenant commander, and Harm nodded slowly.  
  
"I guess it's my way of remembering him." He held out his hand, and Rollins took the few steps necessary to close the gap between them and lay the ribbon in Harm's hand. Harm turned his hand over quickly, clasping Rollins' hand in a firm grip, the insignia between their palms.  
  
"You really went through the wringer, eh, Commander?"  
  
"Absolutely." Harm replied. He pulled away and returned the ribbon to his pocket. "When my night vision problem was discovered, they wanted to bring me up on charges. Fraudulent enlistment, manslaughter due to culpable negligence, conduct unbecoming." Harm shook his head slightly, as if amazed he was still in the Navy, even after all these years. Truthfully, whenever he thought about it long enough, he was. "It had to be someone's fault, somehow, not just something that was beyond control. Even after the Article 32 denied the prosecution a court-martial, I was convicted. Convicted by Mace's brother...and worse, I was convicted in my own mind."  
  
Harm fixed his gaze on the lieutenant, and Rollins could see the sympathy reflected there. Not sympathy born of disdain or pity, but sympathy born out of shared pain.  
  
"You always get so involved in your clients' lives, Commander?" Terry's question was less of a question and more of an escape from what was still an uncomfortable position, and both men knew it.  
  
"If you call doing my job getting involved." Harm answered, a slight smile crossing his expression. "Then I guess so. What happened to you and Lieutenant Woods was terrible...it's the risk we take every time we go up. But it was also not your fault. And I intend to prove that." Aware of Rollins' eyes still on him, Harm tucked the grease rag into the back pocket of his jeans, and closed up the Steerman's engine. "How would you like to go flying, Lieutenant?" There was no response for a moment, and he looked over at his client. "She was running a little rough the last time I took her up; I think that should about do it."  
  
"Yeah." Terry finally replied, his dark eyes taking in the biplane in another admiring sweep. "I think I'd like that, Commander. I'd like it a lot."  
  
July 14th  
  
0800 Hours  
  
JAG Headquarters  
  
Falls Church, Virginia  
  
Monday mornings definitely called for coffee. Mac carefully poured herself a cup from the carafe in the bullpen, her dark eyes sweeping the area in a quick glance. In other days, she might have wanted a little...okay, maybe a lot...of Bailey's Irish Creme in the coffee to screw up her courage to do what she needed to do today. Thanks to the Corps, however, and her Uncle Matt, the coffee alone was enough for her today, a familiar morning ritual that settled her into the day's agenda.  
  
An agenda that included discussing the impending Rollins Article 32 with one Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr. whether he liked it or not.  
  
Carrying the coffee mug back to her office, she glanced over her shoulder once again to perhaps catch sight of him making his way into the common area, and was almost a little disappointed when she only saw Harriet Sims crossing the bullpen with an armful of files.  
  
Rather than greeting the ensign and thereby inviting a conversation that likely would have little to do with what was on her mind, Mac continued on her way to her office, closing the door behind her but leaving the blinds in the window open. If Harm passed by, she would catch him and talk to him then.  
  
She didn't have long to wait; however she was buried in her notes and wasn't aware of his approach until he'd actually rapped on the door with his knuckles and opened it a crack, sticking his head in for a quick peek.  
  
"Morning, Major." He said airily, flashing a smile. "Working hard I see...well, you'll have to work for this one. I talked to Lieutenant Woods yesterday." He dropped the shoe, letting her know that a potential key witness for the prosecution had already been snagged by the defense.  
  
"I know. I'm already working on my cross for the inquiry."  
  
"You know?" Harm gave her an amused expression. "Lemme guess. Bud. What'd you do, tell him you were gonna ground him for a month if he didn't tell you?"  
  
"No...actually I called the hospital this morning and Woods' doctor told me that you'd already been there to interview him." Mac motioned for him to enter the office fully, and Harm did so, closing the door behind him.  
  
"Something you'd like to disclose, Major?" His tone was still light, and Mac winced inwardly, knowing that was likely to change within the next few minutes.  
  
"Yes." Mac replied firmly, knowing that this conversation was as necessary as it was difficult. "In a manner of speaking. Harm...just how close were you to leaving the Navy for her?"  
  
The question was direct, to the point, and took Harm completely off guard. For a moment he just stared at her, almost open-mouthed as the implications of her words registered with him.  
  
"Just what did she tell you?" He bristled, uncomfortable with the idea of Rachel Westlake just unloading everything on the major like that without telling him. It was bad enough that she had met Meg in such an unfortunate manner, and now she was messing with his partner. As much as she had been right in bringing Terrance Rollins to him last night, Harm was beginning to consider Rachel to be his own personal curse in life.  
  
"She didn't tell me anything." Mac answered him earnestly. "She's not the one I went looking for last weekend."  
  
An expression of puzzlement briefly crossed his features, and Harm glanced away from the major. His gaze fell to her desk, and the puzzlement gave way to a deep frown as he saw what was sitting in her "out" basket.  
  
A set of official transcripts.  
  
His official transcripts.  
  
"What the hell are you doing, Mac?" He demanded sharply. This was some disclosure. "This isn't about me."  
  
"Just like CPO Holst's court-martial wasn't about me?" The major replied evenly, her dark eyes showing some annoyance, despite the fact that she'd known that his reaction would be somewhat less than stellar.  
  
Harm hesitated the briefest of instants, recognizing Mac's intentions, even though he was angry that she had gone behind his back to score her information. When he had confronted her about her father, his knowledge had come directly from Mac herself.  
  
"You could've told meâ€"" He started, but that moment's hesitation was all the major needed to press home the "attack," just as any good Marine would.  
  
"You're right...it shouldn't be about you; it should be about Lieutenant Terrance Rollins. What happened on the Seahawk...what happened in Norfolk...were terrible things to go through. They helped make you who you are today. But...they don't have to define you. Or the way you try this case." Mac drew in a deep breath. "Don't take your past out on him, Harm. He doesn't deserve it."  
  
Echoes of the Holst murder case rose up in his memory, his confronting Mac about her abusive past hindering her ability to defend her client, a wife-beater himself.  
  
"Who did you talk to?" He still wanted to know. Now it was Mac's turn to hesitate, but only to exhale slowly before replying.  
  
"Belleville is a lot smaller than the place I grew up."  
  
"Bellâ€"" Harm's eyes widened in surprise. "You went to Pennsylvania and talked to my grandmother?"  
  
"Unless there's another Sarah Rabb hiding someplace." Mac tried to lighten the moment a bit. "She's a remarkable woman."  
  
"Yes, she is." Harm conceded. "And I know what you're trying to do, Mac. But that doesn't change the fact that you've been underhanded, trying toâ€""  
  
"Trying to help my partner." Mac interjected. "Besides. I'm not the only one who's been...concerned about this."  
  
"Admiral Chegwidden?" Harm frowned. If the admiral's confidence in him on this case was shakenâ€"  
  
"No; he didn't accompany me to Belleville, Harm. Meg Austin did."  
  
July 14th  
  
0830 Hours  
  
JAG Headquarters  
  
Falls Church, Virginia  
  
Harm rapped his pen absently against his desktop, the slow rhythmic tap, tap, tap the only sound in the otherwise silent office.  
  
Mac was right, he knew, even if he didn't exactly admit it to her there in her office. He weighed his irritation with her methods against the burden his past had admittedly placed upon this investigation. It didn't matter, either, that Mac had talked Meg into going to Belleville; the road to hell might be paved with good intentions, but at least these two had had the guts to act on theirsâ€"he had to admit that. In the end, what really mattered for Terrance Rollins was not the details of his defender's guilt complex, but whether or not his defender would keep him in the Navy...  
  
Abruptly he tossed the pen onto the desk blotter, leaned over and picked up the telephone receiver, the fingers of his other hand rapidly punching up a number.  
  
"Clayton Webb, please."  
  
"Speaking." The voice on the other end of the line sounded particularly annoyed, but that was just generally Clay Webb all over. Harm had to stifle a chuckle. "What are you doing calling me on this line, Rabb? I thought I was supposed to be the spook."  
  
"You are." Harm replied easily, knowing that Webb was most likely grimacing at the comment. "I need a favor."  
  
"Oh, what now? Free tickets to the President's Ball? You've got a lot of nerve."  
  
"Mmm...seems to me that you still owe me one, Clay, for getting that Chinese agent out alive and handing you a bona fide traitor on a silver platter."  
  
He wasn't quite sure how the idea had even come to him. Wasn't quite sure that he could even prove it. But he knew now that his client was indeed innocent, and if he had anything to do about it, he was going to nail the party that was responsible.  
  
Even if it meant dragging some very respectable names through the mud.  
  
On the other end of the line, Clayton Webb sighed slowly. "Just tell me what you're after, Rabb and make it quick. I'm supposed to be on a flight out of D.C. in forty minutes."  
  
"I need to know who's running the rat maze in the Pentagon these days." Harm replied quickly and smoothly, certain of his course. "The real experimental stuff...possibly being tested on active personnel."  
  
"You don't want much, do you?" Webb fairly snorted. "You know all you're gonna get is an official denial. Nobody wants to admit to the Hill that they've been playing mad scientist with John Q. Public's military son or daughter."  
  
"Give me somebody with a conscience, Webb. Someone who'll put it on the map for me. The future of a good pilot hangs on it."  
  
"Somebody else might be hanging on it if you keep going in that direction." Webb warned, and Harm could almost swear that the State- Department-cum-CIA-agent was genuinely concerned. "But if you want a conscience...talk to Admiral Jayson Pettigrew. ZNN's already had a crack at him once, but the Pentagon put a seal on the story before it could get anywhere. And Pettigrew's being forced into an...early retirement, so to speak."  
  
Clay gave him a few details on tracking down the admiral, and Harm jotted them down quickly.  
  
"...uh huh...got it. Thanks, Clay."  
  
"Thanks, Clay? I save the ass of another of your clients, and all I get is...'thanks, Clay'?"  
  
"Don't miss your flight." Harm answered dryly before hanging up.  
  
It had begun only as a moment's curiosity...an oddity in Terrance Rollins' personnel file...several dates of unexplained absences that didn't correlate with leave notices. It was this anomaly that had flagged his attention first two nights ago in the Pax River BOQ. A little deeper digging into those dates had revealed another little tidbit of information that, combined with the sketchy impressions from his interview with Lieutenant Woods, had prompted the call to Clayton Webb. That tidbit had been the fact that Rollins had spent nearly three weeks in Georgia barely a month before his current assignment to the America.  
  
In itself, it was unremarkable. Rollins might have had relatives or friends there, or simply been curious to visit a state he'd never seen before. What was unusual had been the discovery that for the entire three weeks Terrance Rollins had all but been sequestered at Fort Benning.  
  
Fort Benning. A Naval aviator attached to an Army installation for nearly a month?  
  
Finally, there had been Lieutenant Woods' testimony. Descriptions of sudden personality changes, minor abnormalities in flight performance, disturbances in sleeping habits...they all pointed to a chemical influence of some kind, although Rollins' fitreps all indicated him as being clean.  
  
How he'd made the jump from these minor concerns to arena of medical testing on military personnel rested mostly on those three weeks at Benning. It was a long shot, he knew, but if he could prove it there would be no shortage of interesting topics of conversation at the next senior staff meeting. It would be nothing short of Tailhook in fodder for the media...Admiral Chegwidden would just love that.  
  
Now all he had to do was prove it.  
  
Which was admittedly a little more than difficult when lacking the proper evidence...  
  
Harm punched up another number.  
  
"Hi, Becca? Harm. Listen, could I borrow Lieutenant Austin for today? I need toâ€"very funny, Commander... Oh, and you have a better idea?" Harm suddenly laughed, Becca Ryan's unabashed matchmaking making him shake his head. "That's not what I meant and you know it. Have her meet me downstairs and tell her to bring her computer."  
  
Harm hung up the phone. He had the feeling that things were about to get very interesting, very quickly, and he just hoped he wasn't going to be the one left hanging in the breeze, as Clayton Webb had hinted in his usual non-subtle way.  
  
July 14th  
  
0850 Hours  
  
Offices of the CNI  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
The rhythm of Meg's typing was the only sound in the office as her fingers darted rapidly over the computer keys, the ragged tapping keeping time with the song that was stuck in her head. Who needed radio when one's mind was willing enough to provide that kind of distraction?  
  
She chuckled to herself and paused long enough to reach over and turn on the small radio on her desk, tired at last of the silence. The song that was playing as it abruptly came to life, however, was the last thing she wanted to hearâ€"the same song she had been humming to herself moments ago!  
  
"I'm cursed." Meg laughed, but didn't change the station; it was, after all, Savage Garden and so she let it play. If it stayed in her head all day, well, it stayed in her head all day. There were certainly worse things in the world to be fixated on than the voice of Darren Hayes.  
  
Like Christina Aguilera, who came on next. Hate that song... Now she did change the station, just as the door to her office opened with a slight knock. Meg looked up from her station hunting as Becca Ryan stepped in. "Ma'am?"  
  
"Seems I don't get to keep you today, either, Lieutenant." Ryan announced, and Meg could almost swear that her CO was rather well pleased with herself. Uh oh..now what? She stopped just short of asking that, however. Not only was it slightly insubordinate, it was also unnecessary. When Becca was that self-satisfied, one didn't have to wait very long for explanations. "Looks like you're going on a field trip."  
  
Another one? Meg wondered to herself. First Belleville, now where?  
  
"Commander?" She prompted, curious.  
  
"Commander Rabb is picking you up this morning; he's already en route. Apparently he'd like a little help from the CNI and you're it. Take your computer." Becca suddenly grinned. "And take him to lunch."  
  
Meg laughed in spite of the sudden tightness she felt in her stomach. Harm, coming here? Today? He must know about the trip to his grandmother's...Major MacKenzie must have tipped him off already... She glanced at her watch. Not even 0900 yet. Steeling herself for what would surely be an interesting ride to wherever it was he would take her, she nodded to Becca.  
  
"Aye, aye, Ma'am."  
  
July 14th  
  
1130 Hours  
  
The Washington Beltway  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Meg had brought along a disk containing the report she'd begun while still at the office. She was working on it now, just the right amount of distraction to keep conversation to a bare minimum until she knew what was going on. Harm hadn't told her much about why he'd requested her help yet, nor where they were going, and she hadn't pushed, deciding that when he was ready to talk about that, or anything else for that matter, he would bring it up.  
  
In the driver's seat, Harm glanced over at her briefly as he negotiated traffic. The laptop was balanced perfectly over her knees, allowing just a bare glance at shapely legs, nicely shown off beneath the skirt of her uniform. He turned his gaze forward again, paying attention for their exit. He had noted Meg's uncharacteristic lack of curiosity, but hadn't found it necessary to jump right into conversation right away.  
  
The glance, however, didn't go unnoticed. Still typing away, Meg allowed a slight look of her own, a small smile twitching at her lips.  
  
"What's so funny?" Harm asked, pulling out into the next lane to pass a rather beat-up looking pickup truck.  
  
"You are." She replied steadily, the smile growing a bit as she continued to work. "I saw where you were looking."  
  
"Seems we haven't been out in awhile, Lieutenant." Harm answered as he pulled back into the right-hand lane. "I think you owe me a date."  
  
"I owe youâ€"?" Meg replied curiously, raising an eyebrow. Harm spared her another glance, this one rather knowing.  
  
"Hmm....Seems you took a weekend off in Pennsylvania while I wasn't looking." He explained lightly. "Gram make you and Mac some of her famous blueberry muffins?"  
  
"Well no, sheâ€"" Meg started, then stopped a moment before continuing. "She had the Major and I baking bread with her all afternoon yesterday."  
  
Despite the tension in the air, Harm couldn't help but smile. Sarah Rabb was many things, but shy was not one of them. An F-14 making a strafing run couldn't be any more direct than she once she had her mind made up.  
  
"She used to tell me a lot of things when she was baking bread on a Sunday morning." The childhood memory rose in his mind, so sharp as to remind him of the scent of the homebaked bread. "What did she tell you?"  
  
"About her grandson." Meg decided that if he was going to ask her directly, she might as well answer directly. "And why that summer after his crash was difficult for more than just the inquiry afterwards."  
  
The muscles in Harm's jaw tightened momentarily, but he wasn't really angry at her, not since he'd made up his mind to truly defend his client no matter the cost. It was something else that was bothering him now, and he wasn't sure how to broach the subject.  
  
"Meg..." He hesitated just a moment more, then plunged on ahead. "You don't have anything to worry about concerning...Rachel. There's nothing between us." The lieutenant commander looked over at his passenger briefly, his expression an endearing mixture of hopefulness and chagrin.  
  
For the first time since beginning the drive into the city, Meg's fingers were still on the keyboard. Her blue eyes were fixed fully on Harm now, and a gentle smile was on her face.  
  
"I know." She said quietly, firmly.  
  
"You do?" The surprise in Rabb's voice was obvious. After all, his past had included women like Maria Gutierrez. He wasn't looking for any misconceptions about Rachel Westlake to be a hindrance in this budding relationship with Meg.  
  
"Of course I do, Harm. Now you just need to put what she did behind you."  
  
Perhaps mere days ago that suggestion might have sounded much easier said than done. Now, with his course charted for him and his mind set on it, leaving the past in the past sounded...well if not easy, at least possible. He nodded once. "Now, sir," Meg's use of the "sir" put a business spin onto the conversation. "mind telling me what exactly it is we're up to?"  
  
"We're on our way to interview an Admiral."  
  
"And...you needed my help to do that?" Meg closed down the computer as Harm took the exit he wanted, getting them out of the crazy traffic that always surrounded Washington at all hours. Harm grinned now before replying.  
  
"Well, I'm hoping he'll give up some...rather classified information."  
  
"Which is likely to be up to my eyebrows in encryption." Meg caught on as she placed the laptop into its carry case.  
  
"Tell her what she's won, Johnny."  
  
Harm came to a stop at the end of the exit ramp and pulled a wrinkled sheet of paper from his jacket pocket, consulting it briefly.  
  
Admiral Jayson Pettigrew  
  
31 Carlton Ave.  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
July 14th  
  
1201 Hours  
  
Admiral Pettigrew's Residence  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Jayson Porter Pettigrew was a man for whose family the Naval tradition was very nearly part of their genetic makeup. Six generations of Pettigrew men had served in the Navy and he had been born into that proud tradition. His wife had died some years earlier, but two of his sons were following in his footsteps. His eldest was stationed aboard the attack submarine Dallas, and his youngest was in his final year at Annapolis.  
  
He had served his country from the ranks on up; from his days as a fresh ensign aboard a destroyer to his current rank riding a desk in the Pentagon. Although those days had almost come to an end. He was loyal to his country and to the service of the Navy, but he was not a man who would willingly turn his back on his conscience just to wear another star on his shoulderboards.  
  
It was that conscience that had made him a respected commander in his shipboard days as a captain, and it was that same conscience that was now railroading him out of the only career he had ever known for almost forty years.  
  
But he was also a sharp man, an observant man. So when the two young Naval officers started up the path to his front door, he was already aware that they were most likely JAG or NIS. He wasn't retired just yet, and it wasn't too late for the Navy to start grilling him publicly over his outspoken views on chemical testing being conducted on active military personnel.  
  
From his spot by the breakfast nook bay window, he could see that one of them was a Lieutenant Commander, and the other was a Lieutenant...a female. That was one change that his generation had overseen and largely disapproved of, women in combat. He couldn't imagine his daughter doing anything other than holding her respiratory therapist's position and raising his two grandkids.  
  
As they neared the front steps, the admiral rose from the table, leaving his coffee and the sports section of the Washington Post behind to answer the door.  
  
"I'm Lieutenant Commander Rabb, and this is Lieutenant Austin," The tall commander introduced themselves by way of formality. "JAG. I'd like to ask you a few questions, sir, if I may."  
  
"Come in, Commander...Lieutenant." Pettigrew opened the door further to grant the two admittance into his home. "I expect you want to talk to me about divulging military secrets to the media and how it could seriously hurt my chances for a third star. Or some such nonsense."  
  
"No, sir." Rabb answered automatically, and Pettigrew's eyes narrowed slightly, sizing up his "guests." There was something...honest about this JAG, straightforward and forthright. Perhaps it was the wings; he'd noticed them almost immediately and known this one hadn't always been the slippery lawyer. He'd done some honest Naval service on a carrier somewhere. Rabb smiled suddenly. "Well, yes sir, I'd like to talk to you about those military secrets, but it's not your career I'm trying to prove, sir."  
  
Pettigrew's thick grey eyebrows came together in a tight frown, tight enough to almost make him look like he had a single eyebrow stretching across his forehead, sort of like Bert from Sesame Street. The odd reference popped into Meg's head and she had to divert her gaze to keep from giggling over it.  
  
"I want to see changes in the system, Commander, and I'm paying the price for those wants. But I do not intend to turn this into a witchhunt."  
  
"I'm just trying to defend an officer whose career has been compromised, Admiral." The tall JAG lawyer replied, again in that same forthright honest tone, and after a moment Pettigrew nodded.  
  
"Ask me your questions then, Commander, and we'll see what we can do for your man."  
  
TWELVE  
  
July 14th  
  
1515 Hours  
  
Offices of the CNI  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
What Admiral Pettigrew did for Harm's "man" was more than he could have hoped for. What he offered was information from the inside: names, dates, classified documents. If in that information a direct link to Lieutenant Rollins could be established, then Harm had a solid case.  
  
What Admiral Pettigrew did not offer, however, was the identity of his inside source. He was adamant that he would not sacrifice an innocent person just to satisfy his own sense of justice.  
  
Harm had respected that a great deal. All the more so when it had been revealed during the course of conversation that Jayson Pettigrew's middle son had been a victim of the same sort of secret testing. Doug Pettigrew was now confined to a wheelchair, collecting VA checks and stubbornly refusing his father's financial help because he had been someone's guinea pig at the Pentagon. That Admiral Pettigrew refused to give up his source's identity told Harm that this wasn't just a campaign of revenge, and that Webb had scored him a solid lead.  
  
Then came the waiting game; the promise had been that the Admiral would contact them after speaking with the inside man. They had opted to return to Meg's office, as the privacy factor would be increased. No need to tip his hand to the Major, or to put the Admiral's source at unnecessary risk.  
  
"It's coming over now." Meg announced, and instantly Harm was next to her, peering over her shoulder at her laptop screen as an encrypted message slowly downloaded from her private e-mail. Meg manipulated it with a few keystrokes, and the encryption codes dissolved to reveal a short message, a set of Pentagon prefixed information codes, and another e-mail address.  
  
"Find out what those codes are for...and ask for a detailed summary on Lieutenant Terrance Rollins." Harm was almost getting ahead of himself; he was close now...could almost smell it.  
  
"These codes," Meg gave him a sidelong glance, as if to say, 'keep your shirt on, flyboy.' "are for specific documentation. Looks like this one hereâ€"" Now she stabbed a finger toward her computer screen. "â€"is the file on your client. I'm not sure why they sent the others."  
  
"Let's look at that one first." Harm prompted, pulling up a nearby chair and leaning close to see what Meg brought up. Too close, almost...his train of thought was nearly derailed by the scent of her perfume at this proximity, and he barely caught the hesitation of her fingers on the keyboard. Harm smiled to himself. Apparently his nearness was having the same effect on her. "Lieutenant Rollins...that is."  
  
Several portions of the file were encrypted. But what wasn't coded revealed a wealth of information. Lieutenant Rollins had indeed been assigned to Fort Benning as part of this experimental program.  
  
"According to this, he volunteered to be part of a reconnaisance training program...Naval aviators, Army Rangers..." Meg said as she skimmed the information.  
  
"There's even a Marine Force Recon team listed here." Harm nodded. "But what I can't tell is if he knew he was volunteering for more than just special training, or if they kept it from him."  
  
"Test cases...look at this, Harm." Meg highlighted another section. "There were several test cases scattered throughout the entire training roster. There are three Naval aviators....two Force Recon...five of the Rangers. My god, Harm...six of them are now either on medical leave or have been medically discharged from the service." She looked up at him, her blue eyes troubled.  
  
Harm sat back in his chair, scratching his forehead briefly.  
  
"Print that off in duplicate." He finally said absently. Meg paused a moment, giving him a curious glance. For someone so eager to resume the hunt, Harm seemed to have stalled somewhere in the thought process.  
  
"What is it?" She prompted. Harm paused a moment before leaning forward again, right elbow on his knee.  
  
"This makes a great case...it's everything I want, but..." He rubbed the bridge of his nose irritably. "...something is not adding up here. Three days ago, Lieutenant Rollins went UA, which you knew. What you don't know, and no one else does either, is that he was waiting in the hangar where they have his F-18. He says he was summoned there to meet someone, a meeting that never took place. The next day, I get a telephone call from the Master Chief assigned to examine the wreckage. He starts telling me that there's a possibility of sabotage."  
  
Meg's nose wrinkled a bit as she scrunched her expression into one of concentration.  
  
"So you're still left with a handful of questions. Was it the testing, or was it the mechanical alteration of the fighter? Was it sabotage, or was it altering the physical evidence? And which will prove your case?"  
  
"Exactly." Harm leaned back now, his gaze drifting briefly back to the file displayed on the screen. "I don't doubt that the testing has something to do with it. Rollins' RIO testified in his statement to a lot of erratic behavior on the lieutenant's part in the last few months. That sort of thing is going to affect a pilot's flying, no question. But this question of sabotage...bothers me."  
  
"Harm..." While listening to the commander's musings, Meg had turned her curiosity to the next coded file in the list just to see what it was about. Her tone now reflected tense surprise as she interrupted his thoughts to redirect his attention. "...I think I know why you were sent these other files."  
  
Harm frowned a moment, the change in subject making him pause before leaning forward again to look at the laptop screen. It took another few moments for what he saw to register with him; when it did, the color drained from his face and he sucked in a shallow breath. Meg put a hand on his arm, concerned.  
  
"Oh my god." He finally murmured.  
  
It was another test case file. Dated a little over ten years ago. Attached to a very familiar name.  
  
Lieutenant Harmon Rabb, Jr.  
  
July 14th  
  
1900 Hours  
  
Harrison's Bar and Grill  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Mike Harrison was off tonight, which was just as well. Harm wasn't really in the mood to talk to anyone he knew just now. He was content to sit silently at the bar, nurse along a tall stout and keep counsel with his own thoughts.  
  
The revelation that he had unknowingly been involved in a Pentagon- controlled, experimental drug test was almost too much to take in. His test case had been somewhat more subtle than Terrance Rollins'; it had taken place right on the Seahawk, right under the CAG's nose and no one except a handful of people knew anything about it.  
  
The immediate questions it raised were troubling ones, too troubling for him to contemplate right there in Meg's office. She probably was waiting at his apartment right now, worried about him, but he wasn't sure that he could have a rational discussion with her about it just now.  
  
If he hadn't been tested on...if he had never been touched...would Tony Mace still be alive now? Would he? The thought made him shiver.  
  
"You're cold? Tell me you're joking; it's like ninety out there."  
  
Harm swallowed a mouthful of stout hurriedly, startled nearly out of his shorts. He looked up sharply, then exhaled slowly and turned back toward his glass.  
  
"Rachel, what are you doing here?" He asked, his tone measured and even.  
  
"You know, tracking you down is getting to be a full-time job anymore." Rachel said by way of a partial explanation. She hitched herself up onto the barstool next to him, her shortness making it a little bit of an effort. Harm almost had to smile at that; her height had once been the target of a little good-natured teasing on his part.  
  
"How did you find me?" He wanted to know. He didn't recall saying anything to anyone about coming here.  
  
"I talked to Lieutenant Austin, but she didn't seem to know where you were. So I asked Lieutenant Roberts where you might go on a night when you weren't romancing your girl. He suggested I check out a couple of places and this was on the list." Rachel shrugged lightly.  
  
"You talked to Meg?"  
  
"At your place, yes. I went looking for you there first."  
  
So Meg was waiting there, just as he thought she might. In spite of himself, Harm smiled a little. She was worried about him, and would stay there all night if she had to. It was a comforting thought.  
  
"You knew about the testing, didn't you?" Harm didn't beat around the bush; Rachel's name had come up as psychological counselor on more than one of the test case files that had been e-mailed to Meg.  
  
For once in her life, Rachel didn't look so self-assured and confident. She glanced around briefly, until she spotted an empty booth toward the back of the bar. She tapped his shoulder and motioned toward it. Harm slid off his bar stool to follow her, picking up his glass of stout almost as an afterthought.  
  
"Yes, I knew. But I didn't know until after your Article 32...they told me after I was chosen to be the psych counsel for a set of test cases at Miramar. I guess they thought I did such a good job with you that I would be perfect for their little top-secret laboratory cases."  
  
Harm held her gaze for a long moment, trying to judge if she was being honest with him or not. In the end, he realized that she was telling him the truth, a truth that she probably shouldn't be admitting to at all considering the top secret nature of the subject. He gave her a sharp nod of acknowledgement, then dropped his gaze to the tabletop, thoughtful. A moment later, however, he looked up at her again, the look in his eyes sharp and probing.  
  
That same look that Rachel remembered so well after the Article 32, when he wanted to know...why. Why she had taken the stand against him, why she had betrayed his trust. Things that she could not answer then, but knew she must answer now.  
  
"Did the testing have anything to do with my crash?" Harm's voice was soft and quiet, not at all as sharp as those eyes. Rachel reached over impulsively and clasped his hand. "Don't jerk me around on this, Rach. I have to know."  
  
"No. The test they conducted on you was nothing complicated. It was a simple steroid test for improved endurance. It's actually a legal prescription medication now." Rachel shook her head slightly, dismissing the added comment as nervousness. "The test had nothing to do with your eyes. It was over months before your crash. The infection that took your night vision would have happened with or without the testing." She squeezed his hand tightly. "Your crash was an accident, Harm. It still is. There's nothing you could have done to prevent it."  
  
"And you knew nothing about it before the trial? You didn't try to get me court-martialed to cover the Pentagon's tracks?" Harm's voice now took on a sharper edge, matching the intense look still in his eyes. Rachel swallowed hard a moment, her memory bringing back those painful moments after she had taken the stand.  
  
"Harm...never. I never would have sacrificed you like that for some half-legal experiment, no matter who was pulling the strings."  
  
"I'd like to believe that." Harm pulled his hand away, confusion washing over him. It had been so much easier to hold her at length; to be adversarial with her, with his memories. To think of her simply as an ally, not an enemy, was almost a foreign concept to him after so many years of believing himself to have been betrayed.  
  
"Believe it. Trust me...please." Rachel's voice was softer, now, and it was her turn to glance down at the tabletop. "No one was breathing down my neck; I did not know. I...I hoped that you would take the administrative separation. I...wanted us to be together." She looked up now, and her eyes reflected a sad longing that Harm had never seen there before. "Love makes people do crazy things, you know. I took the stand hoping that...if you were dismissed from the Navy, then maybe we could make a life together."  
  
Rachel's honest admission was akin to setting off a grenade in an enclosed space. Harm's jaw nearly dropped open in mute amazement. After a moment, he found his tongue, however.  
  
"With you in and me out?"  
  
"Carrier duty is dangerous, Harm; we both know that. But I wasn't planning on staying in. I wanted a private practice. At least...I wasn't planning on staying in until I lost you. Then...it turned into a whole new ballgame."  
  
"You wouldn't have lost me if you'd just told the truth." Harm pushed away his half-empty glass and stood up. "If I'd known then what I know now..." He looked up a moment, as if seeking answers written in the ceiling. "I don't know. Maybe I might've taken that admininstrative separation."  
  
Tossing down a few bills onto the table, he turned around and headed out of the bar.  
  
July 15th  
  
0900 Hours  
  
JAG Headquarters  
  
Falls Church, Virginia  
  
"Enter."  
  
There was something about Admiral Chegwidden's voice, even coming through the thick oak door of his office, that did more than just command respect; in the right tone, it could put the fear of God into whoever waited on the other side.  
  
In this case, Lieutenant j.g. Bud Roberts.  
  
Bud squared his shoulders and opened the door, coming to within a few feet of the Admiral's desk and standing at attention. Chegwidden recognized the scent of nervousness, the sort inspired by the unexpected and gruff summons of a senior officer. "At ease, Lieutenant."  
  
Roberts dropped into the more informal stance, keeping his hands clasped behind his back, a textbook model of the attentive junior officer. Except his eyes were a little wider than usual. Chegwidden smothered the urge to chuckle; it might be an admiral's privelege, but as hapless as Bud could be at times, the younger man had a very sharp mind indeed, as evidenced by his progress so far through law school. "How are your studies coming along, Mr. Roberts?" He asked, a seemingly random opening for a conversation Bud had been certain was going to be more...serious.  
  
"Uhm..." Roberts fumbled for a moment, taking his train of thought to the unexpected subject. "Fine, Sir...going very well...actually I'm just getting ready to present a term paper concerning tactical persuasion in court."  
  
" 'Tactical persuasion,' Lieutenant?" Chegwidden prompted, leaning back in his chair to regard Bud.  
  
"Yes, Sir. It's the fine art of using your words and body language to draw inferences from witnesses and...'spin' the jury's perception of evidence to your perspective." Bud was warming to his conversation now. "For example, take Commander Rabb. He's very good at taking a witness exactly where he wants to go simply by...changing the inflection in his voice or by how and where he stands during examination. You see, Sir, it's all about taking advantage of your own best qualities and making them work for the best possible outcome of your caseâ€""  
  
"And you created an entire term paper out of tones of voice, posture and personality?"  
  
"Yes, Sir. Twenty-one pages, Sir."  
  
"The Commander's smile versus your..." Chegwidden paused a moment, searching for the right word. "...enthusiasm. We may have to put that to the test someday, Lieutenant."  
  
"Thank you, Admiral." Bud was all but beaming now. Tactical persuasion indeed...he was about to be undone by his own words.  
  
"Mr. Roberts, I'd like you to...concentrate your efforts on your classes for the next couple of weeks. I've been following your classwork and I am reducing your legal aide duties here to accomodate your workload elsewhere."  
  
"Sirâ€"?" Bud's expression puckered into a confused frown, having been drawn right into the Admiral's agenda and then very neatly blindsided by it. "Admiral, if I've done anything to...Have I done anything to lose your confidence, Sir?"  
  
"Lieutenant..." The admiral paused a moment, considering his next words before delivering them. "I'm about to lose one good lawyer; I'm not going to lose two." Chegwidden leaned forward on his desk now, his own body language lending intensity to his next words. "This decision didn't originate with me, Mr. Roberts, do you understand?"  
  
The puzzled look remained on Bud's face a moment or two longer, but was suddenly replaced by a dawning of realization.  
  
"The SecNav? Admiral, what's the SecNav got to do with my law classes?"  
  
All right. Partial realization. Chegwidden sighed; subtlety was an art form the lieutenant would have to cultivate if he hoped to master the subject of his term paper.  
  
"Commander Rabb is about to shoot himself in the foot in court, and SecNav wants to...limit the casualty count. As of now, you're off the Rollins case on a two-week personal leave, Lieutenant."  
  
"You can't do that, Sir!" Roberts blurted out, then suddenly dropped his gaze, a slight flush in his cheeks evidence of his error. "I mean...Sir...with all due respect I disagree with the SecNav's decision to remove me from the case. Commander Rabb's defense of Lieutenant Rollinsâ€""  
  
"Could possibly be the most damaging case to the Navy's interests in modern history. Mr. Rabb is sitting on a powder keg with a match in his hand, and it has become my responsibility to contain the explosion." Chegwidden's words were laced with a tone of disgust; Bud realized that the admiral was just as displeased with the SecNav as he. Time to take another approach.  
  
"Sir, what about the interests of the Navy in protecting its personnel from covert medical experimentation? Doesn't the just cause of the victims like Lieutenant Rollins deserve a voice in court, Admiral?"  
  
Turnabout is fair play. Even from a junior officer. Chegwidden sighed again, this time a long slow exhalation.  
  
"SecNav feels that pursuing those interests should remain internal and not public fodder for the media and anti-military groups to pick over. The Article 32 is going to become a closed session if necessary, and Commander Rabb shipped off to duty in the Aleutians if this thing blows up in his face. Are you fond of penguins, Mr. Roberts?"  
  
"No, Sir. But...begging the Admiral's pardon...what about the first rule of the SeALs' code of conduct, Sir? We can't just leave the Commander behind to take the heat alone, Sir." Roberts paused a moment, as if weighing the consequences of his next words. "I refuse to throw Commander Rabb to the wolves. Uhm...with all due respect, Admiral."  
  
Roberts certainly had guts. Even if he was fidgeting in the wake of his insubordinate assertion. A.J. Chegwidden felt very suddenly caught between a rock and a hard place; perhaps the lieutenant had mastered more of that 'tactical persuasion' than he had realized. "Admiral Chegwidden..." Bud pressed his point home. "This wouldn't be the first time the SecNav has attempted to influence a case. You walk a very fine line...but I've never known you to compromise your sense of justice or duty. Sir."  
  
In the moment of silence that followed, you could hear a pin drop. Neither man dropped his gaze; Admiral and Lieutenant looked at one another with that odd sort of newfound respect that came in moments like these.  
  
"Very well, Lieutenant. As you were." The words were measured and even. Bud drew up into a position of attention, and Chegwidden held his gaze just a moment longer, then gave him a short nod of silent dismissal. Bud turned smartly and started to exit the office, when the admiral called out after him, "And Mr. Roberts..." Bud turned at the door, looking back over his shoulder with a hand on the doorknob. "...I expect you to ace that presentation, is that understood?"  
  
A grin, unexpected and as bright as anything Harmon Rabb had ever given him appeared on the younger man's face.  
  
"Aye, Sir."  
  
THIRTEEN  
  
July 15th  
  
0922 Hours  
  
Somewhere on the Beltway  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Harm shifted gear and eased the Corvette into the passing lane, taking on the D.C. morning traffic like he was approaching a painted target in an F-14. He had spent a restless evening; the echoes and choices and memories of a ghostly past he once thought he'd understood had driven him to sleeplessness much as he was now driving his car, rapidly and doggedly.  
  
The questions surrounding his own involvement in secret testing had badgered his thoughts but reluctantly had to be placed on hold for the time being; right now the issue of Lieutenant Rollins' defense and the possible case for sabotage had to be dealt with definitively. And the answer, he had a feeling, would be found in the rest of those coded files that Meg had downloaded from Admiral Pettigrew's source. After checking in briefly with Bud to inform the lieutenant of his whereabouts, he was now on his way to meet Meg at Fiorio's for breakfast and a debriefing as to the material in the other files.  
  
Fortunately Rachel was otherwise occupied; Harm didn't feel like having extra company sitting in on a session that could possibly have personal consequences as well as professional ones. He already knew that he would be skating on thin ice with the Admiral once he presented his theory of defense; he didn't need to have any extra nails placed in the coffin. No, Rachel was otherwise occupied in obtaining Lieutenant Rollins' temporary release into her custody for a second time; Harm was interested in getting the pilot away from Pax River to continue their examination of the facts. His previous discussion with Rollins in the cockpit of the Stearman had done more for their lawyer-client relationship than anything else to date...and Harm needed Rollins to stay talkative. The more cooperation from him, the betterâ€"and the faster he could get it, too.  
  
Harm zipped the car back into the right hand lane; his exit was approaching just ahead. Meg would be waiting for him at NI and besides...he didn't want to pass up an opportunity to thank Becca Ryan personally for putting the lieutenant "on loan" to him for this assignment. He grinned to himself suddenly; a little harrassment wasn't such a bad thing between old friends.  
  
July 15th  
  
0925 Hours  
  
CIA Headquarters  
  
Langley, Virginia  
  
The phone was most certainly to be tapped in some fashion, despite all the strict security to the contrary. It was pretty much common knowledge throughout the world that there was no such thing as a private conversation in Washington. And despite all the assurances from powerful people in high places, the media would get a bite of this, one way or another.  
  
And then all hell would break loose.  
  
Clayton Webb loosened his tie and shifted morosely in his seat. It was bad enough to be called out of Washington like this especially in the middle of a State luncheon for Senator Halloran. It was worse when he'd been given his assignment: put on the pressure to shut down an investigation.  
  
Harm Rabb's investigation.  
  
The very same investigation that he had so recently given Rabb his help for. Clay hadn't volunteered the information, although he was positive that he had been chosen specifically for that very reason. The Company was going to teach him a lesson about...loose lips and sinking ships and committing political suicide. Or something like that.  
  
Webb sighed to himself, debating on making that phone call. It would probably be better to speak face to face, but riskier as well. He didn't want to pull the plug on Rabb and then just stand there like an idiot trying to explain himself, but it was more than possible that this was exactly what was going to happen.  
  
He laid a hand on the telephone receiver, then changed his mind abruptly and stood up. Picking up his coat from the armrest where he'd draped it, he drew in a resolute breath. Time to make some sort of move here...in for a penny, in for a pound.  
  
After all, there were plenty of worse ways to go than political suicide.  
  
July 15th  
  
0945 Hours  
  
Patuxent Naval Air Station  
  
Patuxent River, Maryland  
  
Rachel sat in the government-issue car that had taken her the distance from Washington to Pax River, unwilling at this moment in time to even consider getting out and making her request to "spring" Terrance Rollins temporarily from his base confinement. Her brain was too busy rushing around in a million different directions for her to even pretend to be as persuasive as she was likely to need to be.  
  
Well...at least it felt like a million different directions, but it seemed that no matter where her scattered thoughts took her, they all returned the singular contemplation of one Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr.  
  
It wasn't attraction. At least, not in the sense that once might have existed. It wasn't to reopen old wounds and pour salt into them, although her very presence seemed to have been enough to make that happen.  
  
It certainly wasn't to give him any answers.  
  
Her admission to Harm last night had broken them both down for the briefest of instants, given them a window into what might have been all those years ago. She had never known, until that very moment, just how close she had come to having exactly what she'd wanted with him. But it wasn't a confession that she had ever planned on making, and surprisingly enough, wasn't a confession designed to bring him back into her life. It was, quite simply, the truth about a past that neither of them had really faced until the last few days.  
  
Well, maybe she hadn't intended on giving him all the answers, but at least she had given him the truth. At the very least, Harm Rabb deserved that.  
  
It was, she realized with sudden surprise, a simple but undeniable curiosity. She had known as early as the first day of being assigned to Terrance Rollins that the investigation would be handled out of JAG's main headquarters. Rachel had never followed Harm's career with a microscope, but she'd known that he was there, and that he'd handled some very delicate cases.  
  
It hadn't taken much for her to get him assigned to this one, and she knew now even if she hadn't known right then, that it was because she wanted to see for herself exactly how he'd treated the past decade...and how it had treated him.  
  
Now, for as awkward as everything had been between them, she had to admit that she was impressed. And that it was good to see him again. Good to see that that time and perseverance had taken him beyond the painful days to a good place.  
  
Rachel smiled to herself suddenly. Maybe now they could look back on those days in Belleville with something other than regret and discomfort. She glanced at her watch. 0956. Almost fifteen minutes spent daydreaming about Harmon Rabb. She smothered a laugh; there hadn't been fifteen minutes like that in over ten years.  
  
Well, she was here to help him, to get Terrance released into her custody. She turned her thoughts over to the direction this case was taking, a direction it was never supposed to go. It had been part of her job not only to counsel Rollins but also to act as damage control. Well, the damage was already being done. However Harm had gotten his hands on the testing information, he had it and was likely to run with it. That would just make everyone's day, she was quite sure.  
  
And likely to get him shut down faster than the SecNav or anyone else could say "no comment." Rachel grimaced slightly. She wasn't so sure that time and perseverance would be enough to pull his "six" out of this one.  
  
July 15th  
  
1005 Hours  
  
Fiorio's Coffee House  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Downtown D.C was the usual workaday hustle and bustle of politics and business. Movers, shakers, and wannabes going about their tasks at the standard frenetic pace. Fiorio's was no exception; it was a popular place for people to gather and discuss plans, "do lunch" and so forth.  
  
Melina Christina Fiorio, however, also knew the value of peace and quiet in the middle of all the rush and fuss and so ran her ristorante with an Old World flavor to it, charming and hospitable, with her own bakery and gourmet coffees. The real lunch rush would not begin for another hour and so when the two Naval officers showed up there were plenty of quiet places for them to choose from.  
  
They took a booth in the back, one where they could have some room to work, and Meg quickly set up her laptop while Harm ordered some bagels, croissants and coffee.  
  
"I called in a reservation." He announced as he slid into the booth, bearing a tray that carried their order. "Jantastik's, downtown, for tonight. I thought maybe...I should make it up to you for all this neglect."  
  
"Maybe?" Meg raised her eyebrows, but at the same time couldn't stop the smile that sneaked across her face. "I thought you said I owed you a date."  
  
"So...you'll owe me two." Harm grinned back, reaching over to pick up his coffee cup and start pouring from the carafe on the tray.  
  
"I called in a favor." Meg deftly changed the topic back to business, despite the fact that she was already mentally picking through her wardrobe, selecting just the right dress for tonight. She glanced up as he filled her mug and placed two creamers beside it. "Some of the files Admiral Pettigrew provided weren't coded with Pentagon prefixes."  
  
Harm gave her a curious expression, bringing the mug to his lips. That first tentative sip of coffee, testing his tongue's tolerance of the hot liquid, paused his reply.  
  
"Outside involvement?" He asked rhetorically, knowing obviously that the answer would be in the affirmative. Pharmaceutical companies or research labs perhaps...interests that would be well-served by lucrative military contracts.  
  
"You might say that. Ollie saysâ€""  
  
"You called a favor on the Colonel?" Harm's eyebrows came up inquisitively. Certainly it had been something of a curiosity at first that Colonel Oliver North was a friend of the Austin family; but having friends in high places had proved helpful on more than one occasion. "You know what they say about payback."  
  
"In that case, you know you're in deep with Becca for the rest of your natural lifetime." Meg answered easily. Harm laughed as he picked up one of the croissants from the tray.  
  
"That was established early on. I think I was seven or eight." He motioned toward the laptop. "Ollie says...?"  
  
"...that those files require a rather...high level of clearance."  
  
"I'll bet. It's not exactly the sort of thing you want to see break on ZNN on a Sunday morning." Harm paused to take a bite of croissant. "How high?"  
  
"Have you talked to your friend Webb lately?" Meg asked as she stirred creamer into her coffee and sipped at it. Harm reached for her notebook to see the results of her decryption efforts, and he glanced from the screen to her and back again.  
  
"Should've known the CIA would have their fingers in something like this."  
  
"CIA, NSA...it's a lot bigger than just a simple case of pilot error, Harm." Meg reached across the table now to clasp his wrist impulsively. "It's big enough to get you killed."  
  
Harm sat back in his chair now, regarding his coffee cup absently, his finger tapping lightly against the ceramic handle.  
  
"That your assessment of the situation, Lieutenant? You think I should back off?"  
  
"No!" Meg was quick to amend her words. "I would never ask you to back off from the truth. And...that was Ollie's assessment, not mine. I'm just saying...be careful. I'd like to pay you back those dates I owe you."  
  
Harm paused a moment longer before giving her a smile. "So would I, in fact. Now what do those CIA files the admiral sent us have to say?"  
  
July 15th  
  
1030 Hours  
  
JAG Headquarters  
  
Falls Church, Virginia  
  
Mac closed the file before her and leaned back in her chair. The file contained the prosecution case she was building against Lieutenant Rollins. The LSO's log, the skipper's and XO's statements, a possible cross against Lieutenant Woods' testimony as Harm might present it, witnesses and their sworn statements, fitreps and evaluations. Rachel Westlake might be called upon to submit a psych evaluation, and the notepad lying next to the file contained a list of possible cross-questions. The hearing itself was still pending on Harm's investigation; so there was as yet no court date set for them to square off.  
  
Which meant that she still had some time to strengthen her case. Drumming the fingers of her left hand on the desktop, she made a few notes to herself of possible avenues to do just that.  
  
"God, don't you ever take your nose from the grindstone?"  
  
The voice, so irritatingly familiar, made her look up from her work. Clayton Webb stood framed in her doorway, trademark trenchcoat open and hanging loosely from his shoulders.  
  
"Mr. Webb." Mac greeted cheerlessly. He was about the last person she expected to see here. "What do you want?"  
  
Webb made a sour little face, coming further into the office and nudging the door closed with a foot.  
  
"You're assuming that I actually do want something. What makes you think that, Major?"  
  
"You're here, aren't you?" Mac replied evenly. "Tell me one time when you haven't wanted something of us the moment you walked in the door." Webb merely stood there regarding her silently, not offering any further explanation or defense of his presence. "Well then, why are you here?"  
  
"I'm about to strike a deal with the devil, Major MacKenzie. And what you're about to do with the Rollins' case is likely to be the damn contract."  
  
July 15th  
  
1313 Hours  
  
Local Airfield  
  
Near Leesburg, Virginia  
  
"Do you always conduct your client meetings like this, Commander?" Terrance Rollins had to shout to be heard over the rush of air and the noise of Sarah's engine. "Break 'em out and take 'em up?" He could hear Harm laugh behind him.  
  
"Not usually, no." Rabb admitted as he banked the plane into a shallow dive. "Unfortunately I see more brig passes and security checks than flight hours."  
  
It was a perfect day to take Sarah up; a blue, cloudless sky and warm sunshine, the sort of summer day that most people lived for. The kind of day that was much too nice to be cooped up inside a stuffy office, even if it was nicely air-conditioned. Grudgingly Harm had to admit that he appreciated Rachel's assistance in "springing" Terrance Rollins for more than the opportunity to speak with his client one-on-one.  
  
"Thanks for breaking from your normal routine, Sir." Rollins commented loudly above the surge of the biplane as Harm rolled her over in a corkscrew turn.  
  
"Not me you have to thank, Lieutenant!" Harm hollered back. "Thank yourâ€"" He paused a moment, considering the term briefly. "â€"your 'shrink'."  
  
"Commander Westlake?"  
  
"She owed me a favor." Harm wasn't sure why he felt compelled to explain it to the lieutenant, but it was done before he could reconsider it.  
  
"You an' the Doc have a history or something?"  
  
"Or something."  
  
"At least you had someplace to go." Rollins said abruptly, and Harm was caught by the lieutenant's serious demeanor. Suddenly he realized that Terrance Rollins was going to talk. Really talk and lay some answers out on the table for both of them. It was much more, Harm knew, than just about the case.  
  
It was about two pilots finding redemption in the middle of the sapphire sky.  
  
"Yes." He finally answered, the single word prompting Rollins to continue.  
  
"All I wanted to do after...it happened was to just disappear for awhile. Only thing I got was the BOQ at Pax. Somehow it just wasn't far away enough."  
  
A sense of gratitude washed over Harm; the lieutenant was more than right. Thank God for Sarah Rabb.  
  
"Where would you like to go?" He asked Rollins impulsively and ahead of him, in the forward cockpit, the lieutenant merely shook his head. "Well...take us someplace, Lieutenant." Harm pulled his hand away from the stick.  
  
"What?" Rollins replied, not realizing what Harm meant.  
  
"Take the stick, Lieutenant; she's your bird."  
  
"Are youâ€"" Rollins' voice was uncertain.  
  
"Your bird." Harm repeated firmly. A moment later, Terrance's hand was gripping the stick, the Stearman responded to his will, and both men reveled in the sensation of freedom that came to them only from the cockpit.  
  
FOURTEEN  
  
July 15th  
  
1507 Hours  
  
Patuxent Naval Air Station  
  
Patuxent River, Maryland  
  
The afternoon breeze had picked up a bit, ruffling what little of Rachel's hair was actually moveable. It was wrapped tightly in her normal regulation bun, but a few wispy strands had sailed free to blow annoyingly in her face. Finally she put aside the pen and pad she had been scribbling on to try to tuck the rebellious blonde hairs back into place. Abruptly she yanked out the haircomb that was holding it all together and worked her fingers through her hair, attempting to reestablish the bun. Overhead there was the scream of hydraulics as an F-14 roared above, heading for the runway on the other side of the base. She paused a moment, hands still in her hair, to observe its approach.  
  
"Stop fussing with that and help me out here." Harm's voice was a mixture of impatience and mild amusement.  
  
"Oh, aye aye, Lieutenant Greasemonkey." Rachel answered him lightly, but remained standing where she was, fingers pulling her hair into a tight ponytail. Harm made a face at her, but it didn't dissuade her from finishing her task.  
  
He had thrown wide the barn doors, sunshine spilling in from the warm summer day outside. There had been a two-day recess in Harm's Article 32, and they had taken the opportunity to return to Belleville. Rachel would present testimony when they returned, and these were likely to be the last carefree days they would have before Harm's fate would be decided.  
  
Sarah wasn't quite completed, but a good portion of the work had been done including a fresh coat of yellow paint. Two more coats would go on, but she was at least presentable enough for a photograph and that was Harm's present aim. For her momentary lack of assistance, the idea of the picture had actually been hers; something to carry back with him as a reminder. An anchor. That there was something worth salvaging of his life that didn't necessarily include the Navy.  
  
Hair out of her face, Rachel flashed Harm a quick smile and took up station behind one of Sarah's wings, near to the Stearman's body. Harm got on the opposite side, and together they started to push.  
  
Harm's strength outstripped her own and so he paused when they were nearly to the barn doors, allowing her to line up with him before the tried to fit the biplane through the opening. But eventually Sarah saw the light of day for the first time in over thirty some years, the sunshine glinting off the propeller and lending shine to the yellow paint.  
  
It took some work, getting that plane out into the open field, away from any reference points for a good picture. Finally they stood back, both catching their breath and admiring the biplane. All the work that Harm was putting into her was beginning to really show.  
  
"Okay, okay..." Rachel stepped away, grabbing the .35 millimeter camera that was slung around her neck. "Stand right about where you are. Move left a little...yeah, like that." She was directing Harm's pose as she focused, stepping back to frame both her subjects in the center of the viewing lens. "Okay, put your hand on her wing."  
  
Harm laughed a little, but did as he was told, placing his hand atop golden paint, already feeling the metal warming beneath the sun's relentless heat. Rachel snapped the picture, and then he made motions for her to take his place.  
  
"Here, hand me the camera."  
  
"What, like this?" She demanded, looking down at her tee-shirt and jeans in dismay.  
  
"Sure." Harm said easily. "You said it would be a memento, and it is...Rachel Westlake, certified psychologist and bona fide pinup girl." Rachel laughed, as was intended, and a moment later the picture was taken.  
  
The memory faded as the F-14 touched down in the distance, her hair forgotten and simply blowing in the breeze, her hands toying with the haircomb. They were the last happy moments before her testimony, before becoming the betrayer that Harm had believed her to be all these years.  
  
Perhaps the betrayer that she had become.  
  
Rachel's thoughts were interrupted by the shrill of her cellphone, and she picked it up.  
  
"What is it now?" She asked absently, almost already knowing what she would hear.  
  
"Commander, I must say that I'm somewhat dismayed with your current progress. You were supposed to string Rabb along, and we were supposed to quietly bury Rollins."  
  
"Then do it already. Commander Rabb will never be able to prove his case in court if you give the prosecution the mishandled evidence charge. Put it on the table for them."  
  
"We've got a man on it." The voice on the other end of the line replied smoothly. "We've decided to take a more...direct approach."  
  
July 15  
  
1616 Hours  
  
JAG Headquarters  
  
Falls Church, Virginia  
  
Mac quickly gathered up her things, hastily preparing to leave. In nearly six hours there had been no answer either at Harm's apartment or on his cellphone and that alone was enough to concern her after her discussion with Clayton Webb.  
  
Webb had spoken his piece and left in a hurry, not even giving her time to consider aloud the ramifications of what he was telling her. It was the verbal equivalent of being thrown into a cold lake fully clothed and having to fight her way to the surface. A deposition with a client she was defending for another case and another court call put off her desire to find Harm immediately, leaving her to rely on the telephone. A telephone that again, had gone unanswered so far.  
  
Briefcase and cover in hand, and uniform blazer draped over her arm, she rushed out of her office and nearly straight into Bud, who was simply passing by on his way to other duties. The near-miss made her drop her cover, however, and Roberts politely bent to retrieve it.  
  
"Bud!" MacKenzie exclaimed, almost relieved. "Have you talked to Commander Rabb lately?"  
  
"Hmm...no, ma'am." Bud replied as he held out the olive cap for her to take. "Not since this morning, when he said he was going to Pax River to pick up Lieutenant Rollins."  
  
"Pick upâ€"?" Mac echoed curiously. Wasn't Terrance Rollins supposed to be restricted to base? Well, no matter. Given the situation, bending or breaking the lieutenant's confinement was the least of her worries. "Did he say where they were going?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Major, no he didn't."  
  
"That's all right, Bud." Mac waved him off as she started to cross the common area, destination already fixed in her mind. He has to go home sometime.  
  
July 15th  
  
1620 Hours  
  
Meg Austin's Apartment  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Meg stood up and stretched slowly, working kinks out of her back and neck that had gradually settled there during the day. She had spent most of her afternoon trying to decipher the remaining coded information in the files from Admiral Pettigrew, with some limited success. She had managed to decode one file that contained hard evidence, direct links, with a pharmaceutical research facility outside of Atlanta that had been involved in the testing done on the volunteers at Benning during the time Lieutenant Rollins had been stationed there. Beyond that, however, she was running into stone walls, encryption programs sophisticated enough to mark them as intelligence material without her even seeing what was in the files they protected.  
  
Briefly she considered another meeting with Ollie, then decided against it. If the CIA or the NSA was going to put pressure on Harm to drop this case, alerting them to her efforts wasn't going to help his cause any. If they weren't already aware of her involvement, that is.  
  
Her stomach rumbled, a small reminder that she hadn't had much for lunch, and she glanced at the clock. Harm would be due back from Pax soon, and she wanted to talk to him about the small amount of new information she had found. Crossing over into the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator and rummaged around for something to nibble on to keep her until dinner.  
  
Meg had decided on a little leftover chicken when there was a signal noise from her computer, notification of new e-mail arriving. Plate still in hand, she walked back over and leaned down to tap a few keys, activating her e-mail program. The message was marked with the same sender IP as the files sent to her by Admiral Pettigrew's inside man at the Pentagon. Setting aside her snack, Meg settled back into her chair and opened the file that was attached. Suddenly blue eyes widened, and her fingers fairly flew across the keyboard as she took in what she'd accessed.  
  
"Oh my god."  
  
July 15th  
  
1630 Hours  
  
Somewhere on the Beltway  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
It was a journey he hadn't contemplated on taking in years. A short drive, really...perhaps only twenty minutes or so away from his apartment in Union Station. What prompted him to take it now, after all this time, he wasn't exactly sure.  
  
Maybe it was all the talking he'd done with Terrance Rollins in Sarah's cockpit. Maybe it was the memories that had rolled in like a tidal wave in reading his journal, untouched for so long. Maybe it was just Rachel Westlake, standing there and looking at him like she could still read his soul after a decade.  
  
Maybe...it was just time to do the right thing.  
  
Harm pulled off the highway at the necessary exit, his face a controlled mask hiding the thoughts that were racing through his mind faster than the cars that passed him on the side road he now traveled.  
  
His destination was still on this side of the river, a small modest house that had been handed down through four generations and spoke of things like family and commitment and all those traditional values that had been woven like fabric to make the man he had once known.  
  
Harm slowed as he neared the street on which the house was located. They had disagreed; he remembered hearing about it. Father and son arguing over life choices, a familiar dance of differing opinions, heated words. The frustrations of good intentions and the struggle for respect. Respect that had finally come at too high a price.  
  
The mailbox was plain, the house still painted slate grey with black shutters. Neatly trimmed lawn, with the evidence of grandchildren in it; a tricycle here, a ball and a wagon there. "The Mace Family" adorned the front door, a hand-carved wood sign that had the name burned into it, a little weatherbeaten but much as he remembered it. Pulling up to the curb, he killed the Corvette's engine and looked at the front door for a long moment before finally getting out of the car.  
  
Peace with Tony's brother had finally come aboard the Seahawk a few years ago, long-standing anger ending with Mace pinning his extra pair of wings onto Harm's uniform. He hadn't expected it, still felt a little surprised as he thought about it now.  
  
Just like he wasn't expecting any favors or forgiveness to come to him from inside that house. Tony's father had been opposed to Tony joining the Navy, had wanted him to take on the family business instead of taking on his older brother's jet-jockey ambitions. Losing one son to the sea was tolerable...losing two, to his way of thinking, was not.  
  
Harm had not seen Tony's parents since the funeral all those years ago. More than a father's anger, he hadn't been able to talk himself into facing Tony's mother, haunted eyes full of pain.  
  
The walk to the front door was short. Too short to prepare himself for whatever reception he was about to find on the other side. Swallowing nervously, he raised his hand and knocked.  
  
July 15th  
  
1630 Hours  
  
JAG Headquarters Parkade  
  
Falls Church, Virginia  
  
Mac hurried across the parking lot to her car, her steps purposeful and swift. She had been caught by Admiral Chegwidden after her near-miss with Bud and spent the last few minutes updating him on another case on her docket at his request.  
  
She was juggling keys, briefcase and cover when a hand on her shoulder startled her and arrested her attention. Looking up, she nearly dropped the keys. She was further startled when the man, in civilian clothing, drew himself up straight and gave her a textbook salute.  
  
"Master Chief Karras, Ma'am." He introduced himself politely.  
  
"Do I...know you, Master Chief?" Mac looked at him with a slightly puzzled frown; the face was not familiar.  
  
"No, Ma'am. But your partner, Commander Rabb, does. I'm stationed at Pax and I've got some information about the Commander's client that you should hear, Major."  
  
MacKenzie hesitated, her recent encounter with Webb still fresh in her mind. The Master Chief had snagged her curiosity however and she wanted to hear what he had to say, see what sort of light he could shed on things. Glancing away a moment, she finally decided that a few more minutes wouldn't take away too much from her current purposes, and she nodded.  
  
"All right." She opened up the driver's side door and tossed in her briefcase and cover. "Let's take a walk."  
  
FIFTEEN  
  
July 15th  
  
1844 Hours  
  
Mace Residence  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Forgiveness wasn't hard in coming, Harm discovered. Ten years had done much to shave the anger from Tony's father, a man who now proudly displayed his son's Academy graduation picture in his study and was not shy in declaring that his "boy died for his country." The picture was like a knife; Harm didn't even have any photos of his former RIO and looking at that fresh-faced young lieutenant made him shiver once as if cold. Tony's mother was suffering from crippling arthritis and could barely get around. Harm found himself coming to her aid even as she offered him a cup of coffee and some shortbread cookies.  
  
It was a surprise to him...much more so than Mace's forgiveness on the Seahawk. Perhaps a son's words had been as effective as any official explanation of innocence, or perhaps time had allowed for a more generous viewpoint. Whatever the source, Harm found himself humbled by it.  
  
They talked about Tony's desire to be like his brother. They talked about his childhood, his mother telling all the humorous sorts of stories that would have embarrassed Tony to death to know that Harm was hearing them. Harm found himself sharing their life on the Seahawk with the Maces, telling them about a part of their son that had largely been unknown to them. Photo albums and memories, coffee and conversation.  
  
Rachel would call it "closure." Harm just called it honesty.  
  
"There's something else." Harm said quietly as Mrs. Mace closed the photo album lying before them. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the frayed ribbon and placed the lieutenant's bars on the table in front of Tony's father. "You...you should have them."  
  
"No sir, Commander Rabb." Mr. Mace replied steadily, holding Harm's gaze with his own. The sort of look that must have commanded a great deal of respect from his boys when they were younger, and it had Harm's attention now. "My wife gave you those in good conscience. And while there was a time that I disagreed with her about it, giving that pin to you was the right thing to do. Tony was a good boy and he worked with good people." The ribbon was nudged back in Harm's direction. "You keep that. Tony wouldn't want you to beat yourself up anymore. You've done enough of that already, don't you think Commander?" Harm dropped his gaze now, looking at the ribbon, his finger tracing the bars lightly. After a beat, he picked up the ribbon and deliberately placed it back in his pocket.  
  
"Thank you." He said simply, looking from one to the other. "Thank you both."  
  
July 15th  
  
1856 Hours  
  
Mac's Apartment  
  
Georgetown  
  
Major Sarah MacKenzie, JAG lawyer and self-assured Marine, was at a complete loss as to what she should do next. The information provided by Master Chief Karras placed an entirely different angle on Rollins case, and now like the Lady Justice herself, she had to weigh truth and justice against circumstance and consequences. Normally "circumstance and consequences" would have to take a backseat to the pursuit of truth in a courtroom but at this moment the price seemed entirely too steep for a few years' sentence on Terrance Rollins, crippled RIO notwithstanding.  
  
That price, increasingly weighing on her conscience with every step as she paced her living room, was one Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr.  
  
"Damned if I do..." Mac murmured to herself, letting the phrase trail off unfinished as she considered her options. Everything, she realized suddenly, depended upon decisions made in the next few hours.  
  
Her original intention to go straight to Harm's apartment and wait until he arrived there had been derailed by her conversation with the Master Chief; combined with Webb's visit it was almost overload and she needed to think. So here I am, wearing a hole in my floor.  
  
In the end, there was only really one choice she could make. "Damned if I don't."  
  
July 16th  
  
0145 Hours  
  
Harrison's Bar and Grill  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Harm motioned to the nearby waitress for a refill and settled back to wait. He had chosen one of the back booths in the far corner, once again not quite in the mood for the usual banter around the bar with Mike Harrison.  
  
Mrs. Mace had insisted he stay for dinner, and he had, albeit a bit hesitantly. He'd felt like he was intruding, but even Tony's father said that was nonsense. So he'd stayed, talking with them over spaghetti with homemade sauce. Eventually the topic came back around to him, what he was doing, had he stayed in the Navy and did he still fly at all.  
  
Some of it had come very easily, talking about renovating his apartment and his career as a JAG officer. Some of it had been much more difficult, talking about how he still enjoyed wearing the uniform, and how he was still flight-ready qualified even though no longer an active pilot.  
  
He'd declined dessert, opting instead for a long drive to sort out his thoughts, and somehow he'd ended up here at Harrison's, slowly working his way through a stout and a handful of memories he had not allowed himself to consider in many years. Recollections of clandestine poker games and a crazy shore leave with Tony and Keeter in Italy. Practical jokes in the officer's mess, Tony's birthday. Sharing Tony's illicit flask and Harm's equally illicit Havanas over the flight deck, watching night traps and discussing the "deeper" issues of life, namely women.  
  
The refill arrived, a tall glass of dark stout, but the hand that delivered it was decidedly not feminine. Harm looked up to see Mike Harrison standing there, tray in hand and a wry grin on his face.  
  
"That's three hours you've ignored me on purpose, Rabb and I don't take kindly to bein' ignored." The words and tone were semi-serious, the silly grin took the edge completely off. Despite his pensive mood, Harm couldn't help but grin back. Leave it to Mike to totally destroy any semblance of seriousness. "You plan on closing me down tonight without even sayin' 'hello'?"  
  
Harm glanced at his watch, realizing with a start that he'd lost all track of time. Another glance, this time a quick sweep of the bar itself, told him that he was the last of Mike's patrons for the evening.  
  
"I uh...had some things to think about." Harm cleared his throat lightly, slipping a hand around the glass of stout.  
  
"Lot more quiet places to do your thinkin' than this hole in the wall." Harrison observed aloud. Harm raised his eyebrows a little, as if giving it some consideration.  
  
"Well, Mike...it's all about the atmosphere." The jukebox, which had been blaring away for the most of the evening, abruptly stopped as its last selection finished, and there was a sudden moment of silence. Harrison just shook his head.  
  
"Last call was fifteen minutes ago, Harm." He motioned to the glass in Harm's hand. "When you're through with that you can help me close up. It'll give you a chance to...think out loud, if you wanna."  
  
Harrison's way of inviting him to talk about it. Harm smiled as the bartender headed back to the bar to settle up tips with his two waitresses. But while it was true that most people would tell their bartender things they wouldn't tell their own mother, Tony's father had been right. Time to stop holding himself hostage in the past. Time for those memories of Tony to be good ones, not guilty ones.  
  
Even though the glass was just handed to him, Harm took a final swallow and rose, digging cash out of his pocket. Crossing to the bar, he laid out the money with a quick thump on the countertop, catching Harrison's attention.  
  
"Thanks for the personalized service."  
  
Harrison grinned broadly.  
  
"Anytime."  
  
As Harm crossed the street to where he'd parked the Corvette, he reached into his pocket where the ribbon bearing Tony Mace's bars lay. Slipping his fingers around it, he allowed himself to smile.  
  
  
  
July 16th  
  
0800 Hours  
  
JAG Headquarters  
  
Falls Church, Virginia  
  
Harm entered the common area, cover tucked under one arm and briefcase in hand, not at all looking like he'd only had three hours' sleep prior. He crossed quickly to his office, depositing the briefcase in a chair and placing his cover on top of a filing cabinet. His first phone call would be to Meg, and the second to Rachel Westlake. Time to make this case.  
  
The receiver was in Harm's hand when a rap at his door paused him from dialing. Tiner was standing in the doorway, and he motioned the yeoman in.  
  
"Commander, Admiral Chegwidden would like to see you, ASAP."  
  
Harm replaced the receiver, intention interrupted, and followed Tiner back out through the common area toward the Admiral's office. Tiner moved around behind his desk, and Harm approached the Admiral's door. It opened abruptly, and he had to sidestep quickly to avoid colliding with Mac, who barely glanced up at him as she hurried by. He paused a moment to observe her hasty retreat, a puzzled expression crossing his features.  
  
"Are you coming in, Commander or are you going to stand in my doorway all morning?" Chegwidden's gruff summons snapped Harm from his curiosity and the lieutenant commander stepped into the presence of his commanding officer, pausing long enough to close the door and then to come to attention. "Looks like your client's off the hook, Commander." The admiral gave Harm a pointed look, even though Harm was still staring straight ahead. "And so are you."  
  
"Sir?" Harm spared a brief glance downward toward the admiral, seated at his desk. His tone was respectful but confused. For his part, Chegwidden was looking at him after that manner of calm command, hands folded on his desk, expression unreadable. For a brief moment, Harm imagined his C.O. was likely a very, very good poker player.  
  
"Major MacKenzie has dropped the goverment's case against Lieutenant Rollins. Pending his recovery, your client is to receive a medical discharge with full benefits."  
  
Harm nearly dropped his jaw in surprise, briefly stunned by the news just delivered. Mac dropped the case? His mind scrambled for an explanation, for words.  
  
"Why?" Was all he could manage.  
  
"The Major maintains that she has no case against the lieutenant, and is therefore no longer pursuing it. It's not like your docket is suddenly empty, I know that Mister Rabb." Chegwidden cleared his throat lightly. "SecNav was more than willing to drop the charges in their entirety."  
  
Harm backpedaled mentally. So the Admiral is aware of my defense.  
  
"Sir, we can't allow that." He knew he was pushing his luck here, but there was much more at stake than simple charges of pilot error. He knew that...Mac knew that. So did the Admiral. "Lieutenant Rollins' voice in courtâ€""  
  
"â€"has been effectively silenced. Mac has dropped the case and it's no longer in my hands."  
  
"No longer..." Sudden realization broke over Harm; something more had happened here than the simple dropping of charges. "What is it, Admiral?"  
  
"Lieutenant Rollins' records are being sealed even as we speak. The case is dead, Commander; there's nowhere for you to go with it."  
  
"Admiral, the evidence I've acquired...what about the truth, Sir?"  
  
Chegwidden sighed softly now, knowing that for all the posturing by the SecNav and the politically charged material Harm likely had in his possession, that the commander was right. Right, however, didn't always play in Washington. Particularly when the CIA was busy covering asses. If there's one thing the CIA is good at...  
  
"The Major's petition has already been received, Commander and that's the end of it." The Admiral regarded his officer, still standing at respectful attention. One thing Harmon Rabb, Jr. had in spades was guts. Not too many men proposed to single-handedly take on the United States government. "Dismissed."  
  
"Aye, aye, Sir." Harm answered, performing a neat about-face. His bearing was professional but his voice and the tightness in his movement telegraphed his disappointment.  
  
"Harm." Chegwidden called out, and Rabb paused at the door, turning to see the Admiral looking at him with a sympathetic expression. "For what it's worth, the SecNav has my official protest on file." Harm inclined his head slightly.  
  
"Thank you, Sir."  
  
"And Harm...I'm sure you can find a use for that evidence. Just don't feed it to press or you're likely to be fish-food."  
  
"Yes, Sir!"  
  
Harm stepped out of the office, heading for his own, his mind already thinking of other avenues to pursue the truth. Perhaps Terrance Rollins' case might be quietly buried but his own had not. If there was enough evidence in his own test-case filesâ€"  
  
He strode into the common area, and his attention was arrested by the attitude of the area. The entire staff that was present was standing in silent attention, listening to the news report that was being broadcast on ZNN. Harm drifted over towards Bud Roberts' desk, looking up at the television monitor nearest to him.  
  
"â€"is the latest blow to the Navy. Admiral Jayson Pettigrew, one of the Navy's most respected officers was found dead in his suburban home today, the apparent victim of suicide. There has been no official comment as yet from the Secretary of the Navy, but the preliminary reports from Naval investigatorsâ€""  
  
Harm felt the breath freeze in his chest for a moment as he took in the report. His hand reached down to scoop up the telephone receiver on Bud's desk, and he punched up a number.  
  
"Lieutenant Austin."  
  
"Are you seeing this?" Harm asked without preamble, his eyes still glued to the screen.  
  
"Yes. Harm, where've you been? I've been trying to reach you."  
  
"You know it's for those files." Harm replied. Meg's question could wait; this was more important. "I want copies of those in duplicate. The door's been slammed shut on me here and Iâ€""  
  
"Harm, wait. That's why I was trying to call you last night. The files are gone. All of them. I received a message from Admiral Pettigrew's contact tagged as more information, but it was a virus. It destroyed everything. Harm? Harm? "  
  
Not even a half hour into the day, and it felt as if napalm had been dropped into it. The doors were all closing and he was being neatly trapped in just the sort of conspiracy theory nightmare that movies were made of.  
  
"I'll call you back." He dropped the receiver into its cradle and resumed his pace, heading straight for Sarah MacKenzie's office.  
  
At the very least, he wanted some answers. He didn't bother knocking but walked straight in, letting the door close firmly behind him. Mac looked up sharply at his entrance, and her startled expression changed to one of resolve. "What the hell just happened here, Mac?"  
  
"Do I have to spell it out for you?" MacKenzie challenged, her eyes meeting his determinedly.  
  
"As a matter of fact, I wouldn't mind if you did." He waited while the major deliberately set aside her pen.  
  
"I just saved your life, Commander."  
  
July 16th  
  
0825 Hours  
  
Patuxent Naval Air Station  
  
Patuxent River, Maryland  
  
It was still early in the day when the news reached Lieutenant Terrance Rollins that he would not be facing an Article 32 hearing at all. It was a mixed blessing; along with it came the news that he would be relieved of his service in the Navy under a medical discharge.  
  
For a long while afterwards, he sat alone in his quarters at the BOQ, considering the idea of finding a very large bottle and having a very long binge. After everything that had happened in the last few weeks, it had all come down to a single question.  
  
"Why?" He demanded aloud of no one in particular. He wasn't exactly asking God; neither was he looking for a way around it. Perhaps it was only his just punishment for his sins, perhaps it was simply fate or bad luck. Maybe it was just an insane mistake. Whatever it was that dictated his future, charted his course, he simply wanted to know why him and not some other poor bastard.  
  
In the end he decided against the bottle and made up his mind to get an answer. No longer restricted to base, he knew exactly where he was going and what he wanted to do when he got there. He might not be the Navy's any longer, but he was certainly his own and now he had to find his own way. This would at least be a start.  
  
Getting up from the chair in which he'd been sitting, Terrance limped over to the closet and pulled out his service blues. He didn't have his discharge just yet. If he was going to leave the Navy's good graces, he was going to do it looking like an officer. Maybe Lieutenant Commander Rabb hadn't started out as his favorite person in the world, and maybe it was even he who had sold him out in the end, but there was something true enough in the JAG officer's struggle with personal demons that had impressed Terry with his own officership.  
  
He hesitated a moment as he buttoned his blazer, his attention drawn by the shine of gold wings reflected in the mirror before him. The moment passed however and he left the wings alone, knowing that part of his life could no more be removed from him than the sun could rise in the west.  
  
Clad in his blues and determined in purpose Lieutenant Terrance Rollins, United States Navy, walked out of the room to find his answer.  
  
July 16th  
  
0825 Hours  
  
Offices of the CNI  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
It hadn't been five minutes after Harm's phonecall that Becca Ryan had entered Meg's office. As expected, the topic of conversation was the death of Admiral Pettigrew. Commander Rebecca Ryan hadn't gotten where she was in the intelligence community by being ignorant of her own people. She knew of Meg's visit to the Pettigrew residence with Commander Rabb and furthermore knew exactly why they had gone there. Ryan's assessment of the situation was brief, pointed, and incredibly accurate:  
  
"Harm's really stepped in it this time, hasn't he?" She held Meg's gaze steadily. Without dropping her eyes or missing a beat, Meg replied,  
  
"Yes, Ma'am."  
  
Ryan sighed a little bit, glancing out the window as she considered everything she knew, which was probably about ninety-five percent of the whole situation although she didn't tell Austin that.  
  
"Not the first time." She finally quipped, and returned her focus to Meg. "What have you got, Lieutenant?"  
  
"Nothing, Ma'am." Meg's tone was obviously disgusted, and Becca raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Nothing?" Ryan prompted. "Two days and a dead Admiral later and you don't have anything?"  
  
Meg started to explain the situation to her commanding officer when the phone rang again, pausing their conversation. Becca waited while Meg picked up the receiver and watched as a slight frown puckered her junior officer's features. Obviously whoever it was on the other end was in some kind of terrible rush; Meg barely got a chance to say hello and a handful of "uh-huh's" before she was hanging up again. "Harm?" Becca asked curiously. Meg shook her head emphatically, rising at the same time.  
  
"No, Ma'am. But it does have to do with his case. I think it could be important. Permission to leave, Commander?"  
  
Becca's eyes narrowed briefly, but whatever it was that Meg had just been told, from the lieutenant's tone there was some urgency attached to it. She nodded once but did not rise as she watched Austin quickly put together her things and snatched up her cover.  
  
"Let me know if this turns out to be anything, willya?" She finally said at length, looking up at her junior officer. "And Meg...be careful."  
  
"Aye, aye, Ma'am."  
  
July 16th  
  
0828 Hours  
  
JAG Headquarters  
  
Falls Church, Virginia  
  
"Come again?" Harm reined in his ire as well as he could; Mac could see him fairly bristle beneath the tightly controlled tone of voice.  
  
"Harm, you and I both know there are times when truth dictates sacrifices. We've both made them." Mac paused a moment, allowing that assertion to register before moving on. "But sacrificing you was asking too much."  
  
"Mac..." Harm came closer, dropped his tall frame into the extra chair in her office. "This isn't the first time I've taken a risk to prove a case."  
  
"I know." The marine major shifted a little, but did not drop her gaze. "But the odds this time... You can't try this case. I won't let you." Her tone was just as certain and steady as her expression, and Harm narrowed his eyes slightly as he evaluated her response.  
  
"What do you know that I don't?" He demanded. Mac shook her head slightly. Harm leaned forward and dropped a hand sharply on her desk, the loud smack of his palm almost enough to make her jump. "Tell me!"  
  
"Clayton Webb was here to see me yesterday."  
  
Harm's eyes widened a bit and he pulled his hand back.  
  
"Webb? What the hell'd he want?"  
  
Mac had to smile a tiny bit; it was the same thing she had demanded of Clayton Webb only a day before as he'd stood in her doorway. But the smile faded and all that was left was the reality of Webb's message to her. A message that she now must explain.  
  
"I'm not the only one who knows something that you don't." She prefaced carefully. "And Clayton was here to tell me that if you pursued this case, that those who do would take action."  
  
"Action." Harm let her words take hold, turning them slowly in his mind, their logical conclusion coming faster than he was willing to concede to. "What sort of action?" His question was rhetorical; the answer was obvious. Clay Webb had been ordered to shut him down. It was the only logical conclusion, with Rollins' records being sealed and the Navy's sudden need to apologize for the "suicide" of one of her most respected officers.  
  
"He didn't have to warn me, Harm." Mac did look away now, and Harm frowned a little, waiting for the rest. "He could have just let you be court-martialed."  
  
"Court-martialed?" Rabb echoed, his frown deepening into an expression of confusion. Mac looked back up, her dark eyes troubled.  
  
"I have a material witness who will testify under oath to the willful alteration of Lieutenant Rollins' F-18 with the express intention of misleading the prosecution...by the lieutenant and with your help."  
  
Harm fairly jumped to his feet, anger flushing his features. For a moment he said nothing, simply pacing the few steps back and forth in front of her desk that the limited space would allow.  
  
"Webb arranged this?" He spat out. "And you believe him?"  
  
"Of course not!" Mac exclaimed, shaking her head again. "But I don't think Webb arranged it. Heâ€"I was approached after my meeting with Webb."  
  
Harm stopped in mid-step, looking sharply at the marine major with the understanding that this was a separate issue to Clay's warning, and something colder wrapped itself around his heart.  
  
"What did he tell you, Mac?"  
  
"He said that the Company has a sweeper in place." She finally said.  
  
"How long in place?" Harm leaned on her desk, feeling that coldness begin to squeeze in his chest, a tight anxiousness.  
  
"Two days ago. He just found out yesterday."  
  
"Two days ago?" Harm echoed, the squeeze now nearly stealing the breath from him. "Two days ago I was at Admiral Pettigrew's home, Mac." He exhaled sharply as the truth broke over him like a slap of cold surf. "With Meg." He snatched up the telephone receiver from her desk, rapidly punching up a number. "C'mon, c'mon..pick up." He muttered. But there was no answer at Meg's office number.  
  
Before Mac could say anything more, Harm had bolted from her office, not even bothering to stop and collect his cover. Scrambling to her feet, she hurried to catch up, calling to him to wait. He paused for a pair of heartbeats, just long enough for her to come alongside.  
  
"Harm?" She pressed.  
  
"Do I have to spell it out for you?" He tossed her words back at her irately. "If there's a sweeper out on me, then there's one on Meg and she doesn't know you've dropped the case."  
  
SIXTEEN  
  
July 16th  
  
0840 Hours  
  
Fiorio's Coffee House  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Meg shut down the engine and stepped out of her Mustang, looking around observantly as she walked across the short distance from the small parking lot to the coffee shop's front door. She was just a couple steps away when a lone figure sitting at one of the outdoor tables caught her attention with the slightest motion of his hand.  
  
Diverting her course, she glanced to the right as she walked over to the table and looked down at the man seated before her. He was rather average looking, non-descript, the mousy computer geek type who had entered the military for the college money and was brilliant enough to be recommended for top-secret duty in a cubbyhole at the Pentagon.  
  
"Lieutenant Austin." He greeted her, and his voice was even mousy. Getting through OCS must have been a treat. She thought.  
  
"Yes. And you areâ€"?" Meg prompted as she sat down across from him. A waitress approached them, and they both looked up. She ordered a coffee, and the girl left to fill her request. She looked back to the man across from her, and he fidgeted nervously.  
  
"I work for...worked for Admiral Pettigrew." He answered her. "I'm the one who called you earlier." He was evasive about his identity, but he seemed sincere enough. Scared enough was more like it.  
  
"You said you had some information for me?" Meg got down to it; her curiosity didn't have to be satisfied in order to hear what the man had to say. The value of the information would determine whether or not she needed to press the matter of his identity.  
  
"Not for you, really. For Rabb." The man reached across the table, taking her hand as if casually flirting with her. Meg nearly pulled away until she felt the mini-disc being pressed into her palm, and she clasped her fingers on his hand.  
  
"Thank you." Meg looked him in the eye. "Weâ€""  
  
"Huh!" The first shot caught the messenger squarely in the chest, the punch of the bullet forcing the air from his lungs in a sudden rush, and he looked up at Meg in sudden terror as the red stain slowly appeared on his shirt, and then the moment was frozen in his eyes as the life slipped from him. The second shot came hard on the heels of the first, shattering the glass centerpiece on the table, sending shards of glass flying.  
  
The next thing she knew, before she barely even realized what was happening, or could even really react, a pair of arms encircled her, dragging her from her chair and down onto the pavement, tipping over the table for cover. Squirming, she looked up to see Harm's eyes gazing back at her worriedly.  
  
"Meg." He said breathlessly, and she guessed that he had come at a dead-on run. "Are you..are you all right? Are you hit?" She glanced past Harm's shoulder at the man sitting slumped in his chair, eyes staring emptily down at the table.  
  
"No...I mean, yes, I'm okay."  
  
Harm followed her gaze to the dead man just a few feet away, and swallowed. Two more shots zinged by overhead, and a third plunked solidly into the table; judging from the sound of impact, not more than a few inches above his head. Another small explosion of movement and then they were both aware of Mac on the other side of them, gun in hand, having snatched it from her car in the JAG parkade.  
  
"Near as I can make out, he's about thirty yards out, about two o'clock." Mac reported, checking the clip and slamming it back in with a practiced motion. Harm threw a quick glance around the table in the general direction that the major indicated, but he couldn't see anything.  
  
"How did you know where I was?" Meg asked now as she pushed against Harm's shoulder, indicating he should let her move, but he continued to shield her body with his own, unwilling to sacrifice her to satisfy the CIA.  
  
"I didn't." Harm explained, almost absently as he scanned the area for a viable avenue of escape. "I guessed."  
  
"Guessed, Sir?"  
  
No more shots were forthcoming; the only sounds were those of panicked customers and pedestrians all scrambling for cover.  
  
"With a little help from Becca." Harm amended. The sound of wailing sirens could be heard in the distance, and Mac lowered her weapon.  
  
"He won't stick around and risk the odds of being caught or having to kill D.C. police." Mac answered Harm's questioning look. "He's a professional, trained sniper. Less collateral damage, the better for the Company."  
  
"And better for him." Harm finally risked moving, and slowly stood up. "But not better for me." He held out a hand to help Meg to her feet. She rose with her back toward Mac, and she looked up at him.  
  
"Better for you than you know, Sir." She said quietly, turning his hand over and slipping the disk into his palm. He looked up sharply from his hand to her serious blue eyes, and she nodded ever-so-slightly. He slipped the disk into a pocket, and put his arm around her shoulders, steering her a few more steps away.  
  
"We need to get you to a safe house." He said quietly, deliberately keeping his voice down. Meg gave him a wise look, one that said, 'no way, mister,' but Harm continued to guide her some paces away from Mac. "At least come to my place, where I can keep an eye on you. It might not be any safer than right here but at least you won't be alone." After a moment's pause, Meg nodded finally and Harm's features relaxed visibly.  
  
"Harm..." Mac called backward over her shoulder as the first of the D.C. police began to arrive. He glanced back at her, then tucked his hand into Meg's elbow.  
  
"Think you can handle this, Mac? I've really got to get her out of here." Sarah looked back at him now, for a brief moment looking a little irritated at being left to fend for herself with a half the D.C. police department and very little information she could disclose. But then her expression softened and she nodded once.  
  
"I've got it. Get her someplace safe."  
  
July 16th  
  
0902 Hours  
  
Embassy Suites Hotel  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
"And now for our top story this morning, a baffling death that is the latest blow to the Navy. Admiral Jayson Pettigrew, one of the Navy's most respected officers was found dead in his suburban home today, the apparent victim of suicideâ€""  
  
It was the same report that had caught Harm's attention at JAG a scant half hour ago, and it had Rachel's full attention now. She set aside room-service coffee and slowly sat down in front of the television in stunned silence.  
  
Information was a commodity in Washington that often carried a hefty pricetag. Everybody owed somebody something just to stay ahead of the game. Even as a somewhat idealistic Ensign she'd known that one, although back then she couldn't know that she would be drawn into the payscale, nor just how much her conscience would come to owe this town.  
  
With an eye still on the television, she reached for the phone.  
  
July 16th  
  
1045 Hours  
  
North of Union Station  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Harm glanced both ways down the alleyway at the back of his apartment building as he came around the front of the Corvette, surveying the area alertly before opening the passenger side door to allow Meg to exit the car.  
  
His hand at her elbow, he barely allowed her time to gather up her things before he was hustling her across the alley and into the building. The two of them proceded up the stairway in relative silence; the only sound was the rattle of Harm's keys as he retrieved them from his pocket.  
  
A few minutes later, they were inside his apartment. Turning on the light, he motioned for Meg to stay quiet as he took his Baretta and slowly cased the apartment, carefully checking everything to make sure there was no unwanted company. Satisfied that they were indeed alone, he safetied the weapon and placed it on the coffee table, within easy reach.  
  
"Do you really think they'llâ€"" Meg started, but Harm waved her off again, and she frowned a little but remained silent as Harm proceded to check some of the more obvious places for bugs to be placed. Recognizing his intentions Meg joined in the search, looking in a few of the more unobvious places a trained intelligence operative might place listening or optical devices courtesy of her newly accquired training with N.I. Finally Harm checked his telephone, looking for evidence of a bug or a tap.  
  
"Nothing's guaranteed, but I think we're all right for now." Harm finally pronounced as he deftly put the phone back together. Meg sat down on the couch slowly, watching him place the receiver back in place in a deliberate motion.  
  
"Do you really think they'll try to hit us here, Harm?" The question was rhetorical; if the CIA was serious about silencing the commander's pursuit then of course this was the first most logical place to search. Truthfully, she was a little surprised that they hadn't come back to a totally ransacked apartment. Harm simply shrugged a little; he knew just as well as she did the sort of thing they were facing. After a long moment of standing there in silence, he took the disk from his pocket and waved it at Meg, indicating she should boot up her laptop.  
  
Not wanting to take any chances, Harm sat down next to her as she placed the disk into the computer's drive. He was instantly aware of her nearness; mere inches separated them as her fingers moved rapidly across the keys. God knew they hadn't had much opportunity to be alone together, that was certain. And now wasn't the most romantic of circumstances...  
  
Still, as encrypted material flashed up on the computer screen, he found his attention drawn more to the soft scent of her perfume and the gentle curves of her face. Suddenly, impulsively, he reached over to still her hands with his own, his eyes watching her face.  
  
Meg looked up sharply, a little startled at the shift in concentration, and then became aware of his thumb brushing the back of her hand oh-so-slightly, and the soft expression on his face as he regarded her.  
  
Harm felt a rush of relief wash over him as she slowly smiled up at him, and he moved his other hand to touch her face with his fingertips, a feather light brush of skin on skin that made her shiver as a thrill shot down her spine.  
  
"I'm really glad you're all right." He murmured quietly, almost inaudibly, trying to put to words his gratitude that the close call of earlier on had not cost him his heart. Meg nervously bit her lower lip, and Harm smiled warmly at her, the look endearing her to his heart that much more. "And I'm glad...you're here, with me."  
  
"Me too." Meg answered him honestly, simply. "I know this is the safest place for me to be."  
  
Harm hestitated a brief moment, then reached up to take her face in both his hands. He leaned forward ever so slightly...  
  
The kiss was warm and sweet, a rush of sensation that took her breath away. Slowly she opened her eyes and looked up at him. And then she was kissing him back, allowing herself to feel the spine-tingling emotions race through her unchecked. There were no rules here now...no regulations, no chain of command. Just Harmon Rabb, Jr., Meg Austin, and...a kiss.  
  
Harm gathered her close into his arms, swearing in his heart that he would protect her. If that meant leaving the damn CIA alone, then so be it. He would turn over the disk to Clayton Webb and let him deal with it. Harm drew in a breath, about to declare his intention to Meg, when there was a sharp pounding on the door.  
  
Instantly they were both in motion, Meg moving quickly to shut down access to the classified material, and Harm snatching up the Baretta and motioning for Meg to get back behind something solid. He said nothing, simply stood his ground as he removed the safety on the weapon. Another flurry of pounding came, and then a shout.  
  
"C'mon, Commander, I know you're in there! I tracked you down and I want you out here now. You and I need to have a talk, Sir!"  
  
Harm straightened up, letting the gun fall to his side as he dropped his hand, a briefly puzzled look crossing his features. After a moment, he crossed the room and cautiously opened the door.  
  
Standing there before him was Lieutenant Terrance Rollins, United States Navy.  
  
July 16th  
  
1115 Hours  
  
JAG Headquarters  
  
Falls Church, Virginia  
  
"I thought you said this was going to be contained, Major."  
  
Clayton Webb was pacing back and forth, practically wearing a hole into the floor with the nervous motion. He glanced back toward where Sarah MacKenzie sat before Admiral Chegwidden's desk, her dark eyes full of concern.  
  
"As far as this office is concerned, it is contained, Webb." Chegwidden replied tartly, leaning back in his chair to regard the pacing man with thinly veiled annoyance. "Major MacKenzie dropped the case and the records are being sealed by your people. Commander Rabb has noplace to go with his case."  
  
"A Pentagon Navy lieutenant j.g. is dead from a slug in his chest, half of downtown Washington is in an uproar and I've got everybody from the D.C. police to the local newshounds to ZNN wanting a piece of what is now a classified murder investigation. That's hardly what I call containment, Admiral!"  
  
"An investigation..." Mac interrupted quietly, "...that will likely be swept under the rug as a random act of violence, a drive-by shooting, maybe even blamed on drug activity. Anything but what really happenedâ€"a CIA sniper taking out an American citizen to cover up a government conspiracy. And unless I'm mistaken, Commander Rabb is still in the crosshairs."  
  
Webb sighed softly, running a hand over his face. This was blowing up into the disaster of the century and unless he played his cards very carefully, the Company was going to ship him off to the Balkans or some such nightmare.  
  
"Look...I don't like this any more than you do. If I had my choiceâ€"" He stopped abruptly, simply looking from one JAG officer to the other, hoping his expression carried the rest of the sentence for him.  
  
"If you had your choice...what?" Chegwidden prompted. He knew exactly what the CIA operative was getting at, but he wanted Webb to say the words. To admit out loud for a change that he was wrong. Webb met his gaze for a moment, then shrugged a little.  
  
"If I had my choice, Harm could run this thing right up the flagpole and let the media salute. But I don't have that choice, and neither does he. However, I'd prefer to not have him get shot trying to find a way around it."  
  
"Nice of you to say so, Mr. Webb." Chegwidden answered, satisfied. "I happen to share that particular preference. So what do you propose we do to keep Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Austin alive?"  
  
July 16th  
  
1130 Hours  
  
One block from Fiorio's Coffee House  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
"You have a hell of a sick sense to meet me here, Commander."  
  
The little park was a community park, a small playground, a place for children to gather and old men to sit and play chess together. Picnics and people feeding pigeons. Rachel sat primly in her khakis, even though for a change she was wearing the slacks instead of the skirt.  
  
"How long have you been in D.C.?" She asked the man who sat next to her on the wrought iron park bench, ignoring his comment. When he didn't answer her, she looked at him and he raised an eyebrow. "It's not like you had that far to go. What I think is sick is you waiting around to watch afterwards."  
  
"I like to be thorough, Commander. Nothing evil about being contientious." He looked away first, letting his gaze track over the park to watch children on the swings. "I've been in D.C. for two days, since I was recalled to track Lieutenant Austin."  
  
"And your cover has been conveniently changed to follow, I'm sure."  
  
"Oh yes." The man smiled slightly, even though Rachel had averted her gaze. "'Master Chief Karras' was transferred from Pax River at 0600 two days ago. How about that?"  
  
And of course, with the case being shut down, it wouldn't matter if either Harm or his partner noticed the transfer of the "Master Chief" who had been in charge of examining Rollins' downed aircraft. Rachel shook her head slightly.  
  
"I know what your orders are," She finally said sharply, and now she did meet his gaze, her eyes steely blue flints of resolve. "but I've had enough blood on my hands. Do you understand me?"  
  
"What, now...an attack of conscience, Commander Westlake? Please. How many years have we been up to our eyeballs in this?" He pulled out a cigarette and lit it casually. "How many of our test cases from Desert Storm are dying of cancer right now, and you want to call me on this Pentagon mouse?"  
  
Rachel hesitated. The Desert Storm cases...had been so easily dismissed as casualties of war. Isn't that what happens in war? Casualties? Then her eyes hardened again. Casualties, yes...murder no. Maybe she was walking a fine line, semantics. But she would not see Harmon Rabb, Jr. and Meg Austin added to the list.  
  
"No more. Back off Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Austin, or you'll be hearing about all of it on the six o'clock news."  
  
"You're threatening the United States Government, Commander. You know what happens to people who threaten the sovereign authority of America." He motioned casually in the direction of the coffee shop where police were still investigating the site.  
  
"Not if I've got the material safely hidden. Several copies...with several different people. All with instructions if something should happen to me."  
  
"You're bluffing." He said finally, still smoking. "You had a thing for that JAG and so now you're trying to save his life." He crushed out the cigarette. "Rachel, I've known you a long time. I'm going to forget you even said that, because I don't want you to be killed." Westlake raised her chin defiantly, and he laughed softly. "Look, just for the record, my orders are to keep Rabb alive. If we have to, we'll ship him off to Alaska or something but he'll stay alive. Now go nurse that conscience of yours and let me do my job."  
  
Rachel watched him rise and walk off, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking for all the world like a normal, average, everyday civilian. There was only one question that remained, and it made her shiver despite the warmth of the day.  
  
Was he bluffing? 


End file.
